The sky flared and blazed through the trees till the whole world seemed on fire; the red clouds were reflected in Della Scala's polished armor till it glowed in one bright flame, above which the plumes on his steel cap floated long and white.
The next second the glory faded and was gone, leaving the world cold and gray.
The sun had set.
A cold breeze stirred the leaves against the pale sky, but to Mastino, leaning against the tree trunk, waiting, no foreboding came. It was success, success—at last!
"Tomaso is long," said Ligozzi.
"The way is long," smiled Mastino. "But not so long that we shall not enter Milan before dawn!"
The passage opened into the undergrowth from the wide mouth of a cave, and Della Scala, in his eagerness, stepped forward into the shadow of its blackness, listening intently.
No sound broke the stillness save the little murmur of the wind, the occasional clank of the bridles of the idle horses.
"Hark!" cried Mastino. "I hear him!"
He turned with shining eyes to Ligozzi.