"Maybe," said the other lightly. "Yet am I glad the Duke hath triumphed, and not Mastino della Scala, who is as sullen as a peasant, and a foe to all display."
"And his wife?" asked Valentine in a low tone. "Have you no thought for her?"
Costanza shrugged her shoulders.
"Methinks I have done much to show I have! But she is a prisoner of war, and must take her chances like another. Were it the Visconti's wife in such a case—she would not be a prisoner long! Let Mastino della Scala tear her from his foe himself—let him do as Visconti did when the Lady Graziosa was in danger."
"Hold thy tongue," returned Valentine angrily. "You talk as a child—you know not what you say."
"I only know this," retorted the other, "I would I were the Lady Graziosa," and she looked defiantly at Visconti's angry sister.
"For shame, Costanza," said Valentine. "Remember yourself."
They rode in silence till, at the turn of the street, another splendid cavalcade crossed theirs. It was the Lady Graziosa and her suite. Tisio Visconti and d'Orleans were in attendance; she rode a white palfrey.
The sun lay tenderly in her soft hair; her green dress was covered with pearls, and round her throat she wore the emeralds Visconti had promised his sister, the first jewels in Italy, robbed from Della Scala.