"Truly," said de Lana, "the lady is as firmly guarded as at any time. I have looked to that."
"Desperation is a great sharpener of the wits, my lord," smiled Valentine Visconti. "When life and liberty are at stake, the weakest will venture—and accomplish much."
"Indeed, I think with the lady," put in Giannotto, "that too much zeal cannot be shown for anything so near to the Duke's heart as this."
De Lana shrugged.
"We will go, lady."
Half an hour later Giannotto and the captain waited in the guard-room of Isotta's prison.
Valentine, one of her women and the page, had entered the prison itself. The Duke's signet had passed through all the formidable barriers. It was late, almost dark.
"This shows a malice in the lady I do not like," said de Lana. "What need she to triumph over her brother's victim?"
"She is a Visconti," returned the secretary. "She has something of the Duke's temper and his strangeness—there may be in it curiosity also."
"Curiosity?"