"I will still try once more for freedom," was the thought she held to; and as they traversed the great corridor and her eyes fell, as had her brother's, on the grim outline of Isotta's prison, "I will free her too," she added, with a swelling heart.
And Visconti thought her conquered, cowed into complete submission, and watched her pass ahead of him down the banqueting chamber with a satisfied smile to see her the fairest and the proudest there.
The brilliant courtiers streamed in, a mass of color and jewels, and Visconti, seated at the head of the table, glanced at the effeminate faces and frivolous bearing of the guests with some contempt.
"No news?" he whispered to Giannotto behind his chair. "No news from Ferrara yet?"
"None as yet, my lord. The messengers are expected at any moment."
The apartment was a blaze of wax candles that threw a thousand dancing reflections on the elaborate silver and glass that covered the table.
The bright light fell too on the rubies on Valentine Visconti's throat. She sat at her brother's side, with a pale face and sparkling eyes. On Visconti's right was her bridegroom, the Duke of Orleans, an elegant young man with weak eyes and a receding chin. His scanty, fair locks were carefully arranged with grease and curling irons into stiff curls, the ends of his mustache were elaborately twisted, and his face was rouged plentifully on the cheeks.
Valentine looked at him once, then ignoring him utterly, she looked down the long, glittering table to the great entrance facing her, with a crowd and press of liveries and hurrying attendants, waiting pages. As for the French Duke, he conversed with Visconti, ignoring the hardly hidden contempt that he was either too dull to see or too politic to resent.
The banqueting hall filled: and the guests in their seats, the secretary, standing back among the servitors, crept out into the antechamber. After the glare and splendor of the banquet, the room seemed dull and somber, and Giannotto stumbled over a crouching figure.
It was Valentine's page, weeping bitterly.
"Poor fool!" muttered the secretary. "Wouldst thou lose thy place as well as thy heart?" And he passed on with a laugh. But after a pace or two he paused. Through the palace windows floated a sound as of distant murmuring and commotion, yet so faint he could scarce be sure of it.