"Hush!" said Valentine. "Do not speak—listen—I have need of thee; wilt thou serve me even to the death, for it may be that?"
"You know I do not heed death, lady," replied the page with glad pride. "Anything that may serve you will make me forever happy."
"Follow me," said Valentine, and stepped on to the balcony. "Now walk behind, and as if I were not speaking to thee. There may be sharp eyes upon us in the garden."
The sun, late as it was, fell between the pillars in strong bars of gold, and Valentine raised her ivory fan as if to shield her from the heat, but in reality to conceal the movement of her lips, in case there might be watchers.
"I must procure an entrance to my brother's rooms," she said, speaking low over her shoulder. "They are locked. No key will fit them. I cannot force the entrance in the palace. Still I must enter. You are listening, Adrian?"
"With all my soul, lady!"
Valentine kept her eyes upon the garden, there was no one there to see. The tower was not as yet finished, and so uninhabited; the garden itself was empty; still Valentine kept her gaze before her and spoke without turning her head.
"At any moment the Duke may return; or, if he does not, there will be sore confusion I cannot cope with; it must be done."
They had traversed almost the whole length of the corridor, and Valentine suddenly stopped.