"The soldiers from Novara," said della Torre, and put his goblet down, and de Lana turned expectantly to the door. Visconti, facing it, rose in his seat as it was flung wide and a couple of scorched and bleeding soldiers entered, followed by a trampling guard.
"From Novara?" asked the Duke.
They stopped short, saluting.
"From Novara! We have saved the library and the college, my lord, and some three palaces."
"They would have burned the library!" cried Visconti, "sooner than it should enrich Milan—the jealous fools!"
"Now, hark you"—he added to the soldiers—"every man bringing a book or a gem or a picture, I reward; every man destroying one, I hang. Now, which is he who saved the library?"
An officer pushed forward.
"This is he, my lord; one of my company."
"Take this from me," and Visconti handed the man his neck chain.
"And the prisoners, my lord?"