"In a tall glass with white lines—it was not Gian—it was the Viper from the Standard—all green and silver—all green and silver—a coiling viper."
She dropped her head forward, then raised it with trembling lips.
"Conrad! come and save me!" Then she fell to laughing, whispering under her breath, counting on her fingers the hours she might have to live. "If to noon—how many?"
The door opened, and she stopped her muttering, turning lackluster eyes toward it.
"Good-morrow," said Visconti, standing with his back against it and looking at her keenly. "Good-morrow, Valentine."
She looked at him and put the hair back from her face.
"I thought I saw Count Conrad walking in the garden: I would have called him up to see me die—how long will it be?"
Visconti advanced with a bitter smile. "Has the lesson tamed thee? It would have been reality, but ye are pledged to France. I would that I dare poison thee, thou tiger-cat, but thou art tamed!"
Valentine face did not change. "Hush!" she said, leaning from the window. "He is back on the tower now—" she pointed to where the silver banner hung idle against the brightening sky. "What dost thou think? shall I sit and watch, lest he spy on us, Conrad?"
Visconti looked at her.