"No," said Graziosa dully. Valentine's words were rankling in her heart; all the past came before her, all the tales she had heard of Visconti, all her father's tenderness, the old, happy time. What if it had all been a mistake? What if Visconti still played with her and he was what Valentine had said? The idea was too awful, she crushed it back, she would not believe.
She thought of her father with a sudden yearning; she had always turned to him in her little troubles, she felt uneasy about him with a sudden wave of homesickness. "Can I forget?" she cried in her heart. "Can I live this life and forget?"
But the next moment she calmed herself. She thought of Visconti leaning over his cathedral, of his hand in hers, of his earnest voice—and she had his word for her father's safety.
Smiling to herself, she mounted the steps to her gorgeous dwelling, made splendid by Visconti's love.
"My father! We shall be happy together again yet!" And she laughed and kissed the roses Gian had kissed, and the sun seemed bright again.
But Agnolo Vistarnini lay in the little chapel of Santa Maria Nuova, near to the western gate, with tapers burning at his head and feet, and five sword-thrusts through his heart.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX IN VISCONTI'S HANDS
Valentine Visconti was praying in the Church of San' Apollinare. It stood some way from the Visconti palace, a magnificent building, rich with the Duke's gifts.