"Take him away," said Visconti. "Take him——" He paused a moment.
"To the gibbet, my lord?"
"No—outside the gates. Give him a safe-conduct that will take him out of my soldiers' lines. And so farewell, Count Conrad; I can waste no more time on you."
"I will not go!" shrieked Conrad furiously. "I will not have your mercy, Visconti—I will not accept from you my life!"
Visconti passed on.
"I say I will die!" cried Conrad after him. "Do you quail at another murder, Visconti? Dare you not kill one more?"
The Duke looked back at him.
"I owe you somewhat, Count. You may remember a certain game of chess you played in Della Scala's camp. It served me well—it saved my life—and gave me—Della Scala. Now take yours—as a most unequal recompense."
He smiled most unpleasantly, and Conrad was silent, struck, chilled.