The sight of him brought memories to both of a certain game of chess—how fatal it had been: how long ago it seemed!
"I tried to make atonement," he murmured.
"My atonement, methinks, is to come," said Vincenzo. "But Mastino will never hear of it—Mastino is dead."
Conrad winced. He knew Mastino was not dead, but he would as soon have stabbed Vincenzo d'Este as told him.
"Fare thee well," he said, holding out his hand.
"Fare thee well."
Vincenzo took his hand, smiled up at him gravely, and re-entered the castle, mounting to the room he had left.
Visconti was on the march.
Vincenzo caught his breath sharply and went to the window to see the last of Conrad. Again he wished he was riding away into the sunshine, away from the dark walls that seemed closing round him forever.
"Farewell!" called back Conrad, gayly waving his mailed hand, and Vittore, excited at the sudden journey, drew off his cap and waved it gayly too. "I go to my own land," cried the Count. Vincenzo's lips trembled, but his words sounded as cheerily as Conrad's.