The soldier smiled at the friar's curiosity, and allowed him vantage; and Conrad, stationed near the foot of the steps, looked up them eagerly to the brilliant group issuing from the church doors.
His roving eyes sought out Gian Visconti. It was only four months since he had seen him, talked to him freely, face to face, his friend and favorite, but it seemed years. Visconti had grown in greatness since then, and Conrad, when his gaze caught the once familiar figure, felt far away from knowledge of him.
Visconti was standing, his cap in his hand, surveying the crowd. He looked much older, Conrad thought, his face was dark and somber, hardly like the face of a man at the summit of his ambition. He came down the steps slowly, on one side his sister, her bridegroom on the other, and taking no further notice of the shouting people, gazed down moodily.
Conrad hardly looked at Valentine, whiter than her white dress, gazing vacantly before her; he did not notice the utter change from her former brilliancy, he had no eyes for the overdressed, foppish bridegroom—he was looking at Visconti.
The steps were thickly strewn with flowers; the train of lords and ladies was one blaze of color and gems, still flowing from the church as Visconti came to within three steps of the Count, and Conrad sprang forward before the startled soldier could throw out a hand.
Visconti stopped, and the procession behind him, arrested, stood a flaming band of movement and color. Conrad threw back his hood with a sweeping gesture, thrilled by the excitement of the moment to dare anything. What his motive he could not have told, but it was a fine moment. He caught one glimpse of Valentine's suddenly illumined face, and drew the dagger.
"Another wedding gift!" he cried in ringing tones, and struck Visconti full upon the breast.
Then an utter confusion fell upon Count Conrad. He was seized and pinioned tight amid wild yells, while the dagger, glancing off the armor beneath the soft rose-colored velvet, fell on the steps unheeded.
"Count Conrad?" said Visconti clearly through the babble of voices. "Conrad von Schulembourg?"
"Aye," said Conrad wildly, struggling between the two soldiers who held him. "Complete your triumph, Visconti. I would have killed you; kill me—kill me! You tried before and failed. I have tried and I fail. End it."