He would have added more defiances, but the soldiers hauled him roughly back, and choked the words back into his throat.
"Count Conrad?" asked Valentine, in a clear tone. "Did he say Count Conrad?"
Visconti motioned to d'Orleans.
"Take the Duchess on, my lord. I will remain and deal with this crazy friar."
"Surely he needs but little dealing with!" said the Frenchman. "An assassin! there is the gallows ready!"
"There is also your wedding procession waiting," returned Visconti quietly, and he motioned the train onward, and Conrad forward, the eager people in the street all straining every nerve to know what might have happened; appeased by the oncoming train, they gave only half a thought to the little knot pressed round the steps, and what the Duke had paused for.
Conrad stood between his guards, with a flushed face and a proud bearing. He would have liked to kiss his hand to Valentine, stepping into her gorgeous litter, looking back with half-awakened eyes; but his hands were held firmly, and his feet lashed together.
"Well, Visconti," he said, with a still higher carriage of his head, "what is it this time—starvation or the rack?"
Visconti made no answer: he was looking down at the flowers on the steps.