"The Duke met my lord d'Este. He knows," said the soldier gruffly, and left the room. It would have pleased him to strangle the foppish foreigner who had well-nigh ruined them.
Conrad felt half relieved, half sorry; whether Vincenzo's relation had been as kind to him as his own would have been he doubted—he felt a wild desire to hide himself till Della Scala's rage had blown a little over.
As he stood there, miserable, undecided, he heard the salutations of the soldiers and a heavy tread outside.
He remembered that Mastino was a giant;—he had once found it to his advantage, he might now find it to his peril; but it was not fear, but bitter shame, that brought Conrad almost to his knees.
He knew that Della Scala was there, though he did not raise his head.
"Conrad," said Mastino, and his voice was strangely altered. "Conrad."
The Count, with an effort, looked at Mastino, who stood in front of the door he had closed, with a face from which all color had been struck.
"When did you discover—this?" continued Della Scala, and pointed to the parchment. All elaborate excuses and appeals for pardon Conrad had prepared died away on his tongue.
"An hour ago," he replied lamely.
"An hour ago!" Mastino walked across to the parchment hanging on the wall.