"It would not serve me well in thee," said Visconti with a sudden glance. "Now, see to it that parchment is dispatched, Giannotto, and by a trusty messenger, and with no delay." "I will give it to Ricardo with my own hands, my lord," said Giannotto. "He is the best man we have since Filippo was wounded this morning in a skirmish by the western gate." "The western gate?" Visconti looked up quickly. "It was not worth while bringing to your notice, my lord. A band of the enemy's soldiers have been skirmishing there." "They were beaten off without harm to anyone within the gates?" "The gates were not forced, nor anyone injured--or I should have acquainted you, my lord," and he waited for possibly some mark of appreciation; but the Duke motioned curtly to the roll he held, and Giannotto crept out with bowed shoulders. As the tapestry fell into place behind him, Visconti approached the black bureau between the windows, and unlocked one of the long drawers. In its dusky recess lay a gold box, and Visconti took it out, handling it carefully. The light fell in a straight shaft from the narrow window, on the delicate chasing of the casket, as Visconti placed it on the table, and as he turned the key and the lid flew back, it gleamed on the emeralds and diamonds of an elaborate coronet, exquisitely enameled and pointed. Every inch was covered with precious stones: each point tapering into a delicate tracery of gold, as fine as lace. Visconti drew a chair to the table, and leaned back in it, his eyes upon the jewels; so absorbed was he, he did not heed the opening door nor Tisio's entrance. And Tisio scarcely saw his brother, for joy at the little coronet, so brilliant in the sun's straight ray. "How dost thou come here, Tisio?" asked his brother, startled; but at sight of Tisio's vacant, foolish face, he sank back, and noticing his joy, he smiled--for Tisio was crazed, and remembered nothing of even the things that gave him pleasure. "Dost thou like it?" he continued, gratified at the delight in his brother's eyes. "Thy taste in goldsmiths' work is good, Tisio." "'Tis beautiful, Gian, wondrous beautiful!" cried Tisio in rapt admiration. "I bought it with the price of half a city," said Gian. "And hold it cheap." The words had no meaning for Tisio, as his brother knew: he only voiced his own pride in the lovely bauble. "And wilt thou wear it?" asked Tisio. The Duke laughed good-humoredly. "Not I, Tisio; still soon--when Della Scala's crushed--thou shalt see it worn by some one--some one whose face will outshine these stones, Tisio." "Whose will it be?" asked his brother childishly. "A lady, Tisio; and when this coronet is on her head, she will be Visconti's wife and the Duchess of Milan!" He paused on the word, and looked at Tisio; but there was no wonder in his brother's eyes, his gaze held by the flashing stones. "Now, by Saint Mark!" cried Visconti suddenly. "This is no time to be maundering with a toy and an idiot."