The shouts and clatter from the courtyard had penetrated faintly to the banqueting hall, and Visconti paused a moment, listening. Valentine listened too, and thought of Conrad. But the noises died away, and Visconti turned to the Duke of Orleans with a laugh. "My soldiers revel in your honor," he said, "and we will drink my sister's health, my lord." Valentine's breast heaved. Who was he, to dare to sacrifice her to his pride and greed? She would not suffer it. Was she not also a Visconti? As in a dream she heard her health drunk; as in a dream she saw the Duke of Orleans' foolish look turned toward her in vacant admiration; then suddenly, with a start, she noticed Giannotto's crafty face. Valentine's eyes blazed with sudden purpose. She looked down toward the entrance, and saw, between the curtains, white faces peering and figures half-thrust forward. "The Duke of Orleans!" cried Visconti, and the guests again rose. Valentine rose also, with inspired eyes and crimsoned cheeks. "The Duke of Orleans!" she cried, lifting her glass, and at the first words she had spoken they stood silent, in an uneasy expectation. "Will the Duke of Orleans wait, Visconti, while I give a still nobler toast?" Her voice rose triumphant. At her words, at the mad defiance of her bearing, Visconti stood amazed. "Here is to the one who has taken Brescia and Verona, even from thee, Visconti; here is to the brave soldier who now marches on Milan--Mastino della Scala!" And she raised her glass high, and then turned and flung it at Visconti's feet. "The news is true," she said, "and now kill me for it." And with a stifled cry Visconti's hand was on his dagger, but d'Orleans flung himself upon him, and caught him by the wrists. Visconti glanced at him, and at the startled company, not grasping what had happened, and then the cry, begun no one knew where, went in a growing volume around the hall. "Verona has fallen!" It circled around the table, it passed from lip to lip, from the white-faced, surging crowd to the brilliant guests, and the company broke into confusion, and looked into each other's eyes with terror. "Verona has fallen!" "A lie!" thundered Visconti. "A lie! my sister has gone mad. Who says the word again shall die!" "My lord," said Giannotto, "listen": and into the sudden hush within came the wild hubbub of the panic-stricken city. "Verona is fallen! Della Scala marches fast on Milan!" CHAPTER FOURTEEN THE TUMULT AT THE WESTERN GATE