"The Duke of Orleans!" she cried, lifting her glass, and at the first words she had spoken they stood silent, in an uneasy expectation. "Will the Duke of Orleans wait, Visconti, while I give a still nobler toast?" Her voice rose triumphant. At her words, at the mad defiance of her bearing, Visconti stood amazed.
"Here is to the one who has taken Brescia and Verona, even from thee, Visconti; here is to the brave soldier who now marches on Milan—Mastino della Scala!"
And she raised her glass high, and then turned and flung it at Visconti's feet.
"The news is true," she said, "and now kill me for it."
And with a stifled cry Visconti's hand was on his dagger, but d'Orleans flung himself upon him, and caught him by the wrists. Visconti glanced at him, and at the startled company, not grasping what had happened, and then the cry, begun no one knew where, went in a growing volume around the hall.
"Verona has fallen!"
It circled around the table, it passed from lip to lip, from the white-faced, surging crowd to the brilliant guests, and the company broke into confusion, and looked into each other's eyes with terror.
"Verona has fallen!"
"A lie!" thundered Visconti. "A lie! my sister has gone mad. Who says the word again shall die!"
"My lord," said Giannotto, "listen": and into the sudden hush within came the wild hubbub of the panic-stricken city.