"Thou art distraught," he cried with a paling face.
Visconti laughed wildly. "Do I not say so? Give me the lantern!" and he held out his finger, on which there blazed a splendid ring. "Would any ordinary prisoner wear a ring like this? I tell thee it is a coal from hell, and I will give it thee—for thy lantern. See, how it shines; try if it will burn thee to the bone," and he stripped it from his finger, dropping it on the pavement at the soldier's feet.
"Truly," gasped the soldier, looking at him, "thou art no ordinary man, and as for thy gems—whether they be coals or no, thou shalt have the lantern."
He stepped across the threshold as he spoke, a little fearfully, and placed the lantern in the niche cut to receive it in the wall.
"Thou wilt be getting it down and firing thyself with it," he remarked. "For thou art clean distraught, methinks."
Visconti made no reply, he had noticed that both the inner doors were shut.
"And as I must answer for thee," continued the soldier, "I will secure thee with this," and stepping back into the passage, he returned with a rope and advanced toward the prisoner.
The Duke rose with flashing eyes.
"Remember thou art the devil, messer," said the soldier soothingly, "and naught can really hold thee."