"And leave Milan. He thinks it is hopeless, now Rome leagues with Visconti—he thinks it better to hold what we have nor risk it all by careless daring—but I—I shall stay here, Ligozzi."
Ligozzi was silent; he knew d'Este's words were true; he knew Mastino knew it also. There was nothing to be said.
"I shall advance on Milan," continued Della Scala. "If the d'Estes' troops care not to join me, I will advance alone with my Veronese."
He sat down on the wooden bench, fingering with nervous hands his gold belt and the dagger that hung there.
"Why dost thou not speak?" he said, after a moment's pause, suddenly turning to Ligozzi. "Dost thou too think it hopeless?"
There was a wistful eagerness in his voice that struck to Ligozzi's heart; he could not utter his thought.
"With waiting, my lord," he replied. "With new allies——"
But Della Scala cut him short.
"I see, Ligozzi, I see. I am a man wanting to be persuaded against himself; yet do I still hope—against myself——"
"To rescue——"