"Stay!" cried Mastino, in an agony. "Stay! your terms again——"
He dropped back into his seat with wild eyes on Giannotto. All his calm had fled, his pride was cowed: the secretary noted it, well pleased, but De Lana shrank from his changed look.
"This is what Visconti offers, my lord," repeated the secretary smoothly: "Give up all the cities, forts, and soldiers under your command, and the Duke forthwith makes an honorable return to you of the Duchess he holds captive, giving you leave to hold Verona under fief to him, doing yearly homage for it—he garrisoning it. If, however, my lord, you refuse——"
"If I refuse?" cried Della Scala, leaning forward. "If I refuse?"
"Visconti's prisons are unwholesome; for some weeks the Duchess has pined; it is feared, without instant liberty——"
Giannotto paused a moment, and lightly shrugged his shoulders.
"In a word, my lord, if you refuse—the Duchess dies."
A terrible silence fell, no one moved or spoke, the lazy flapping of the tent struggling on its cords was the only sound. Della Scala sat rigid, looking at Giannotto, all power of thought struck out of him.
"Shall we take these terms to d'Este—shall we offer him his daughter for his towns?" said Giannotto softly.