"His sister is very, very beautiful. I am not so fair as she, nor as Della Scala's wife, and yet he thought me fit to share his throne——"
She moved toward the door with faltering steps.
"I must not think," she moaned. "I will lock the door—I will lock the door——"
But another thought struck her, and she quivered with her agony.
"He trusted me—he trusted us—he never questioned our faith!"
Then her heart rose in rebellion at her own weakness. Let Visconti be betrayed: why? What did she know of his crimes?
She could hear her father feasting the soldiers below, and thought of him restless and impatient for nightfall. He had never loved Ambrogio.
She listened and heard his voice in pleasant laughter with a triumphant ring in it, and a sort of rage rose in her heart.
"Who are we to save Milan from a tyrant?" she thought. "Ambrogio is more to me than all the Milanese."