"The Duke is tired of his whims, and is putting him under a closer watch," he said. "From now on he will not often ride the streets."
"I am sorry for him," said Graziosa impulsively. "I am very sorry for him."
They were at the house door, and Agnolo, stepping ahead into the dark entrance, led the way up a flight of shallow wooden stairs.
"This is stirring news, Ambrogio," he called over his shoulder. "About the Duke of Verona's escape, I mean. Do you think there will be war?"
"I am a man of peace," returned Ambrogio softly, his eyes on Graziosa. "How should I know? Still, I do not think Della Scala will trouble the peace of Milan much."
And now Agnolo, at the top of the flight of stairs, was holding open a wide door through which they passed into Agnolo's workshop, filled with the pleasant litter of his occupation. "I do not agree with thee," he said. "Della Scala's is a great name. Were I Visconti, I should not feel secure."
Graziosa and Ambrogio entered the long room, high and light, its windows opening wide onto the street.
And Ambrogio, seating himself near one of the large easels, turned to Agnolo, the while he drew Graziosa gently down beside him.
"What has the Duke of Milan to fear from Della Scala?" he asked.
"Everything," cried Vistarnini excitedly, for keenly did the little painter love to air his views. "Everything. Mark me, Ambrogio, if the Duke of Verona do not suddenly fall on one of Visconti's towns."