"What care I for the prisoners?—you will give no quarter, I say!"
The officer bowed, and drew a little book from his doublet, laying it on the table.
"A monk gave me this for his life," he said. "And all Lombardy knows your taste in books, my lord."
"Remember we league with the Pope," said Visconti, taking it up. "The monk should have had his life without a bribe; now go, and heed what I have said." He turned to de Lana: "Follow, and see if the flames be out; 'tis daylight."
The curtains were drawn away from the window, and the early light, fast glowing into sunlight, and the fresh morning air, filled the heated chamber.
The lamps flared pale, the gorgeous dresses and flushed, eager faces of the men round the table, the glimmer of the gold and silver vessels before them, showed in a garish contrast with the soft light.
"Seneca," said Visconti, turning over the volume the soldier had brought. "Where is that knave Giannotto? Seneca, spoiled by interlining, but still Seneca. Giannotto—I say!"
The secretary was not in the room, but the page dispatched soon brought him. He stood in the doorway, blinking at the daylight, looking around confused, and the company broke into laughter.
"Take this!" cried Visconti. "A Seneca on vellum, with some dolt's comments; take it, Giannotto."