The girl moved impatiently; her father's words jarred on her senses.
"Father, I am tired," she said wearily, "and my heart is very sore——"
"Never fear, my daughter; to-night, to-night!"
Graziosa turned to him; her face was white and strained.
"But if—he—the Duke—should not be—be slain?" she said. "He has a new army here in Milan."
"Aye, but a surprise at dead of night is worth two armies to the others. The palace is near; Visconti will be in their hands even while he sleeps——"
"In Della Scala's hands——" she breathed. "That means, indeed—he—O God, it means Ambrogio dies!"
The last words were breathed so low Agnolo did not hear them, but he saw the pain on his daughter's face and came gently to her side.
"Forgive me if I pain thee, my dearest. God knows, if I speak lightly 'tis but to hide a bitter grief——"