The page obeyed.
"Now bring the glass and follow me," said Visconti, and left the room, the boy behind him.
Before his sister's door he paused. Soldiers guarded it: within could be heard footsteps and anxious, frightened voices, the whispers of the tragedy. The key was turned: he entered, opening the door quietly, admitting himself and the page, the guard closing it behind him.
The room was lofty, and, like all Visconti's rooms, ill-lit. A great crucifix hung at the far end, and before it knelt Valentine. When she heard the door she turned and started to her feet.
"Put the wine down and go," said Visconti to the page.
"Ah, no!" cried Valentine. "Let the page stay, Gian!"
She stepped forward with imploring eyes upon the boy.
"Go," said Visconti again.
"In the name of mercy, stay!" cried Valentine, in sudden desperate fear, seeing her brother's face. "Stay!"
The wretched page hesitated, but not for long. Visconti turned once more, and he tapped on the door to be let out, making no more ado.