"A Visconti!"
"Knock on the door again," cried Isotta, "knock again."
Cavalry was passing, going at a trot, so close, the hoofs were almost in their faces, the foam flew over their mantles.
Then in wild confusion they pressed back against the door; passing close, a host of pennons waved from glittering spears, the tossing of horses' heads, the champing of their bits, a clamor of noises, deafening shouts, a hurry of the cavalcade, and then—suddenly a horse drawn up close to the shrinking group in the shadow of the doorway, and a rider looking down at them.
Wild with terror, Isotta flung herself against the door, which yielded. Valentine looked up at the man who had stopped—saw her brother's face.
"Ah, my sister," he said between his teeth; and Valentine, scarce knowing what she did, fled after Isotta, the page behind, closing the door upon Visconti.
In the pleasant courtyard was a girl, dressed in scarlet, who rose, surprised at their disordered aspect.
"'Tis only a moment gained," cried Valentine, hoarsely. "He will follow!"
Isotta turned to Graziosa in an agony. "For the love of Heaven hide us—for the love of Heaven, from Visconti!"
"Hide us!" said Valentine bitterly. "Hide us from Visconti!"