"And he has not yet re-entered Milan?"
"No, messer." By now Vittore felt and showed respect.
"Then we will not enter Milan either," said the stranger, "since Visconti has not."
The boy gazed on him, struck by his tone, and Tomaso's eyes, half-closing, reopened and fixed themselves upon the stranger's face.
"Messer, you hate Visconti?" whispered Vittore.
The man laughed shortly. "There are many in Lombardy who hate Visconti," he said. "Perhaps I not less than others. Boy," he added, with sudden intensity, "I have only two things to live for: one is to tell Visconti to his face what one man's hatred is."
And leaving them half-terrified, he strode into the road, and shading his eyes looked long and searchingly away from Milan; but the dusk was settling fast, not a soul in sight, not a sound.
Presently, with an air of relief, born of new-sprung resolution, the stranger returned to the expectant boys.
Revived by his tendance and by the cool evening air, Tomaso was helped upon his feet, Vittore clasped his hands in joy to see him move again.
"Messer, how shall we thank thee!" he exclaimed.