"Your lady's safety, my lord," said Giannotto, "depends on your friend's silence. He has left his sword. There will be no bloodshed."
There was a silence, then Mastino looked up and spoke hoarsely.
"Begone! and take my answer to Visconti. I accept and will carry out his terms; my wife against the towns."
"Only remember, my lord," and the secretary smoothed his hands together nervously, "any attempt on Milan, any movement on your part, and the offer is null and void and the Duchess dies."
"Begone!" screamed Mastino, "take my answer and begone!"
Giannotto turned and went softly out of the tent.
* * * * *
It was done—it was done—beyond redemption had he fallen; he had chosen—there was no turning back.
Mastino della Scala sat alone and stared in the face of what he had done. These few moments were his; then he must go and lie to his officers, deceive his men, weaken his towns, destroy his forts—prepare to place them in Visconti's hands. He must send false messages to the Estes and to Julia Gonzaga—lie and deceive and betray! But he had saved his wife from Visconti—his wife—Isotta.