"Graziosa," he murmured.
But the girl made no answer; she was huddled on the bench that ran along the wall, looking out with frightened eyes.
As he spoke she shuddered, and crouched closer to the wall.
But Agnolo answered, and Visconti, serene in his pride, did not notice the painter's tone.
"My daughter is dazed with her surprise, lord, as who would not be? Graziosa, speak to the Duke, speak to thy Ambrogio," and he gripped her hand fiercely. But Graziosa rose at his touch, and snatching her hand away, fled from the room, with one wild look toward Visconti.
"Ye see, my lord, she is bewildered, she can scarce believe it true——"
"It matter not for now," said Visconti. "Thy daughter loves me, painter, and none the less, I doubt not, that I am Duke of Milan; and she shall be my duchess, as I have vowed."
"Truly, the honor is more, I think, than she can bear," and Agnolo bowed to the ground.
"I have won a wife for myself—a wife who loves me for myself alone."
"Ah, she loves thee for what thou art not," cried Valentine aloud.