But Conrad was to be moved no more. With a smile more provoking than any reply he picked up the rings and slipped them on his finger. But Vincenzo, hot-tempered and passionate, sprang forward with boyish passion. "Thou shalt not have the emerald," he cried. "Must I fight for it?" smiled Conrad, and glanced at Vincenzo's little dagger. "The emerald seems worth it--only I should be afraid of hurting thee." And as he spoke he poured out more wine, drinking it gracefully. "I will fight only with an equal," said Vincenzo. Conrad turned on him, and for all his smile his blue eyes were dark. "Thou reckless boy!" he said. "The Germans are the lords of Italy. What is thy family but a fief to the Emperor?" Vittore had watched the scene in terror. Tomaso had let him know Della Scala had left Schulembourg in trust, and he felt his master was hardly acting as the Duke had meant. In childlike fashion, eager to stop the quarrel, he spoke his thoughts. "My lord," he said, "shall I not accompany you to the Duke of Padua's tent, as the Prince commanded?" "Commanded!" cried Vincenzo, catching at the words. "Aye, Count Conrad, remember my brother's commands!" "I remember none," returned the Count haughtily. "What dost thou mean, boy?" But Vittore lost his courage under the angry glance. "Only, my lord, what you said," he stammered, "about keeping watch upon the Duke of Padua." "So you were left as a spy?" sneered Vincenzo, "is that it? Make haste, Count Conrad, hurry to Carrara's tent as you were told, and see what he is doing." Conrad, flushed with wine, allowed the boyish sneer to goad him into fury. "I play the spy at no one's bidding," he said. "I do not leave my tent to-night." And he flung himself on the couch. "But what did the Duke order? It will go ill with you when he hears of disobedience," sneered Vincenzo. "Let it go well or ill, I will not leave my tent to-night on any errand, save I choose." And Count Conrad's words were heard by another than Vincenzo and Vittore, Giacomo Carrara, who listened outside. The storm-wind was beginning to howl and the rain to fall in heavy drops, but the Duke of Padua only thanked his good fortune for such propitious weather, as he turned away and made rapidly toward the castle to question the prisoners. CHAPTER SEVENTEEN THE TERRORS OF THE NIGHT The storm had risen, the low whispering of the wind, the distant rumbles of the thunder, gathering unheeded, burst suddenly into a tempest.