She thought of Conrad with bitterness and shame, of his vows of devotion, how he had sworn she should never wed the French Prince—and—he was free—had been so for many days, and never a word or a sign.
Visconti flung wide the chapel door, and in the adjoining room he summoned to her side his sister's page. Valentine's eyes fell on him, and she noted how the blood rushed to his face as he sprang to obey. He was a fair-haired boy with eager eyes, who worshiped her with a romantic devotion at which she had often smiled; but now——
He lifted her train, and Visconti held out his hand. Outside her door soldiers kept their motionless guard, and beyond the gay crowd swept to and fro. Silently Valentine moved forward, but her heart was burning with rebellious hate.
"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.