"Nearer Milan," he replied. "Yes; but we do not break camp until the morning, Count. You and the rest remain here to join the Prince." Carrara looked also out into the thunder-laden air, but not at the sky--at the castle, frowning black above the encampment. "An officer of mine," said Conrad carelessly, "said something to me of some prisoners." "Yonder at the castle, Count. Will you question them with me?" asked Giacomo smoothly. "Question them!" laughed the Count. "You may have that task, my lord!--and I shall know then where you are," he added under his breath. Carrara kept his eyes down, lest even Conrad should see the excitement in them. "Possibly even I may not question them to-night, Count," he returned with a smile. "I intend to rest now, as we march at dawn." Conrad rose, with a pleasant feeling of having done his duty, though in his heart a little annoyed that Della Scala had not trusted him with the movement of the army. "The thought of his wife has made him crazy," he said to himself. "Giving Giacomo credit for treachery, still he entrusts him with orders he withholds even the knowledge of from me." And leaving Carrara, he went in search of Vincenzo. Giacomo sat silent till the Count's laughter had died away in the distance, then rose with a passionate exclamation at his own luck and Mastino's blindness. Without a question the Count (left in trust, Carrara knew as plainly as if he had been told) had swallowed his lies, and left him to do as he pleased while he reveled with Vincenzo d'Este. Seeking the entrance once more, Carrara looked out into the heavy evening. In that great castle Visconti was a prisoner. Though with his own eyes he had seen Gian Visconti bound between the soldiers, he could not rest for his impatience to see him again and have it confirmed before any other eyes should recognize this rare prize. To-night Carrara's army was to desert to Milan. That had been already arranged with Visconti's disguised messenger. It should still desert, but Visconti was now a prisoner, his life in Carrara's hands--there must be slightly other terms between them. To be in a position to dictate to such a man! Giacomo stood in the gathering dusk, waiting for the dark, his eyes on the castle that held Gian Galeazzo Maria Visconti, Duke of Milan--a prisoner. * * * * * "The storm nears: how hot, good St. Hubert, how hot!" And Conrad tossed the damp curls back from his forehead. The entrance of his tent was flung open to admit what little air there might be, showing to the soldiers without Conrad and Vincenzo bending over a game of chess; on a table near were flasks of wine and elegant glasses; along the floor Vittore lay, half in a heavy sleep. The tent was lit by jeweled lamps, and by their dull light Vincenzo's beauty shone with an almost unearthly brilliancy. He was clothed in white, his thick black hair falling about his shoulders.