Visconti watched him go, then stepped to the inner door and locked it on the women whispering and quaking within.
Valentine tried to speak; the words died away on her tongue; she fell back against the tapestry, grasping it in stiff fingers, her eyes on his face.
Visconti seated himself at the table on which the page had stood the glass, and, resting his face on his hands, looked at her. The Viper on his doublet seemed to writhe, alive.
"Graziosa is dead," he said.
Valentine's eyes grew wild with fear.
"I did not kill her!" she cried. "I did not kill her, Gian!"
"I found her dead," said Visconti, still looking at her.
Valentine writhed against the wall, wringing her hands. "She slew herself," she moaned. "I did not kill her!"
"I shall not kill thee," said Gian.