He never doubted for a moment that her love had turned, as his had done, to a passion of outraged pride.
"Graziosa!"
But no answer came, and Agnolo mounted the stair and entered her little chamber in the turret. It was circular, lit by three long windows, and now ablaze with the morning sun.
The walls were hung with painted linen, faded browns, and in each window stood a rough stone jar of lilies, drooping neglected in the sun.
Seated on the floor near one of them was Graziosa, her face buried in her hands, but at her father's entrance she raised her head and looked out of the window.
"Graziosa," said Agnolo, and there was a boyish triumph in his voice, "Visconti dies to-night."
She did not move.
"To-night Della Scala enters Milan; there is no chance of failure."
"None?" she asked. Her voice was dull.
"None! Ah, Graziosa, Visconti roused more dangerous foes than he reckoned on when he played with me and thee."