"I have tried everything," cried Conrad, gayly. "I tried to rescue the Lady Valentine, I tried to kill Visconti, I tried to make him kill me—I have failed. My Lady Valentine is married, and is set out for France."
"For France!" interrupted d'Este. "Then must the country indeed be in Visconti's hands if his sister and a wedding-train set out for France!—what news, Count? surely there is some news?"
"Not much I care to repeat," replied Conrad. "Only rumors—all the country I rode through, from here to Milan, seems to swarm with Visconti's men—I saw no sign of Della Scala—there were wild tales abroad, and wild sights."
"On my honor, Count, you might have come with better information than this—days have we been waiting with no sign nor word——"
"From Mastino, would you say?" asked Conrad, eagerly.
"From Mastino. Have you not heard or seen aught of him?" cried Ippolito.
Conrad looked at d'Este's intent face, and from him to Vincenzo, waiting expectantly for his answer.
"I—I cannot say I have," he answered. "But as I tell you, I heard nothing save rumors——"
"And they——?"
Conrad fingered his yellow sash uneasily.