He looked down at the wine as he spoke, with a smile.
Valentine threw herself on her knees.
"I did not touch her!" she screamed wildly. "I did not lay a hand on her!"
"I shall not touch thee; I shall not lay a hand on thee," smiled Visconti.
"Then I shall not die? I shall not die?"
She staggered to her feet, with an effort to be calm.
"Thou wilt not die?" said Visconti, softly, his eyes on her. "Thou wilt drink—this." And he touched the glass beside him.
"Thou canst not be so cruel," pleaded Valentine. "I am thy sister, Gian——"
"Do I think so much of family affection?" said Visconti. "Still, she was to be my wife! Thou wilt drink this."
Valentine flung herself on her knees again, and dragged herself along the floor toward him. "Have pity!" she cried. "Have pity, I am so helpless! Spare me, and I will never offend thee again—never!"