The newcomer laid his hand on Valentine's shoulder, she standing calm and erect, and turned his face to Graziosa.
"From me?" he said, and his voice was very sweet. "From me, Graziosa?"
"Ambrogio! Ambrogio!" cried the girl. "What do you here?"
Valentine would have spoken scornfully, but Visconti turned his eyes on her, and she dared not. The courtyard was full of armed men.
"Ambrogio!" repeated the painter in dismay. "What does this mean?"
Visconti laughed pleasantly, but his hand tightened on his sister's shoulder.
"It means, thy daughter hath found a lover worthy of her in Visconti."
Visconti! As in a flash the little painter saw explained a thousand things that had perplexed him. Visconti! His quickly working brain had grasped it and summed it up before Graziosa could even realize she heard aright. She stared there silent, with a piteous look upon her face. Visconti turned to his prisoners.
"Take Isotta d'Este back to her prison," he said, curtly, and a group of soldiers advanced.
Isotta clung to Valentine in an agony.