CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR TREACHERY
The day that was to place Milan in the enemy's hands was wearing to a close; the sun had almost set in a wide sky, a flare of orange and purple, against which the chestnuts stood in rich dark.
Mastino della Scala and some few of his officers were standing in the little wood into which the secret passage opened.
Behind them the army was in readiness.
"I have wrenched success from the hands of failure!" cried Mastino, his eyes brilliant, a different man. He could have laughed aloud for joy; he would see Isotta to-night, he would keep his word; Visconti's palace was near the western gate, they would be up upon him before he knew.
"There is no possibility of failure, Ligozzi; no possibility of treachery?" he said, eagerly, and pressed his friend's hands in his.
"None, lord; Vistarnini is to be trusted to the death."
"Von Schulembourg's horse returned to camp this morning," said Ligozzi. "I know not where the Count is."
"When I am in Milan I will find him; he shall wed the Lady Valentine; I bear him no bitterness. Ah, Ligozzi, the world will be a different place to-morrow."
And Mastino leaned forward eagerly, waiting for the first sign of the return of Tomaso, who had been sent ahead to reconnoiter.