It was the slumbrous hour after noon; the air heavy with an approaching storm, and Conrad lounged languidly on a low divan, playing with his dagger. The war, although success had fallen to his leader, had already begun to weary this indolent cavalier, and even the sight of Milan in the distance, where Valentine was imprisoned, could not keep him from whining at the hardness of his fate. A parchment lay near him on the seat, and from time to time he made some pretense of looking at it: pretense only. In Della Scala's force Conrad held third command under the Duke of Padua, who was immediately under Mastino; but Conrad's post was largely a sinecure, for though in the battle the Count's gallant courage roused Della Scala's warmest praise, he recognized that his capacity for generalship was small. None the less Della Scala trusted him completely. His heart full of his one object, elated by his successes, eagerly keeping his allies together, Della Scala had small leisure to notice Conrad's stifled yawns when the council of war was held, or the fact that he gave more thought to playing cards and chess with Vincenzo than to the discipline and efficiency of the men under his orders. For the fiftieth time he put the parchment down and turned to Vincenzo, who lay along the floor, eating nuts and hurling the shells at the legs of the sentry visible through the flaps set wide back for coolness. To make the soldier jump at a telling shot was more just then to Vincenzo than the taking of Milan. "I would there were some one else to read these dispatches," said Conrad. "I love not this part of soldiering. When, think you, will there be another city to be taken, Vincenzo?" "There was fighting yesterday outside Milan," returned the boy. "Thou shouldst have gone." "I asked the Prince to let me, but as usual I was bade stay at my post." And Conrad rose with a sigh of outraged virtue and adjusted the points of his rose-colored doublet. "Asked the Prince!" mocked Vincenzo; "thou shouldst have gone without asking him." "A dash on the walls," said Conrad, "that is what we need, not this idleness and skirmishing. I long to grasp my sword and fly to my Lady Valentine's rescue--but the Prince----" "Tell me not," said Vincenzo. "I know Mastino always counsels prudence, and I am weary of it." "The Prince knows more of it than we, doubtless," admitted Conrad. "Nevertheless these parchments may wait while I have a game of chess with thee." "May they, Count Conrad? And is chess thy notion truly?" said Mastino's voice without, and unannounced he entered the tent, followed by Tomaso's father, Giorgio Ligozzi. He was from head to foot in armor. His eyes fell on Vincenzo, and his face darkened. "For shame, Vincenzo," he said, with scorn. "Thou art no longer a child, to indulge in these page's tricks, and much I marvel Count Conrad should allow thee such license." Vincenzo rose sullenly.