Valentine noticed them, she noticed Graziosa's happy face, the joy she took in the homage paid her, in Visconti's success that so galled her, Visconti's sister, and a sudden purpose rose in her eyes.
She smiled sweetly on Graziosa, and rode up to d'Orleans; the Frenchman remarked with pleasure how she outshone the Duke's betrothed. The deep blue of her velvet robe made her skin appear of dazzling fairness, her hair was like burnished gold, her mouth like a red flower, but her eyes, for all her smile, as dangerous as Gian Maria's could be, as mad, almost as wicked.
"We are well met, my lord," she said, smiling. "Have there been even greater victories?"
"I know not, lady; they say something of Lucca having fallen," returned d'Orleans. "I have been escorting the Lady Graziosa to view the new church—by the Duke's orders"; he added in a lower tone, "could I have chosen my companion, it had not been she."
Valentine listened with downcast eyes, playing with the rubies at her wrist. Her escort was grouped about her, and Costanza glanced aside at her curling lips with some mistrust.
"The Lady Graziosa is happier and fair to-day," she whispered to her companion, and Valentine overheard and smiled the more.
"And my brother, the Duke?" she asked.
"I have not seen the Duke all day," replied the Frenchman. "There is talk of an embassy to the enemy—confusion and crowds——"
"You have been riding Milan to see the rejoicings?" interrupted Valentine, and she raised her eyes to Graziosa once—the glance was not pleasant—then she fell to playing with her bracelet again.