"He has no army," said the student. "He cannot rouse the d'Estes."
"He will!" cried Agnolo. "He will—he and Count Conrad. Didst thou not rejoice, Ambrogio, when Count Conrad escaped? We heard of it from the soldiers. Graziosa was glad at heart, as every man or woman or child must be. Such a fate! Didst thou not rejoice he had escaped it?"
Ambrogio was mixing colors in a china saucer, and tapped his foot a little impatiently.
"Why should we talk of Della Scala—and Visconti?" he said.
"Visconti! who wishes to talk of him?" returned the little painter. "Tales have come to me about him, too terrible to repeat before our Graziosa," he added, lowering his voice.
"You gossip too much with the soldiers, father," said Graziosa. "I do not love the soldiers, nor should you listen to their tales about Visconti."
"They would seem to tell them a little too freely," murmured her lover, and drew his brows together.
"What dost thou mean, Graziosa?" cried her father, "as if it were only from the soldiers we hear of the Duke. Lately some fine tales have got about, and on no soldier's authority."
"Shall we not set to work on the pictures?" interrupted Ambrogio. "You said, methinks, these tales were not for Graziosa's ears."
"Indeed, 'tis true," and the little painter bustled to the second easel and drew the curtain that hung before the large panel, revealing an almost completed picture of St. Catherine in scarlet robes.