"I hear more arrivals—hark!"
"What should this be?" asked da Ribera in surprise. "Not my Lord Arezzo from Modena?"
"From Modena!" cried Visconti with sparkling eyes. "Is there success there too?"
"Your arms cease to meet with aught else, Lord Visconti," said della Torre. "I drink to your perfect triumph!" He raised his glass, red as a huge ruby in the light, and Visconti, triumphant indeed when the leader of a faction admitted it and deemed it politic to say so, drank to della Torre standing.
There was a clatter of footsteps and the noise of a great entry.
"Silence!" said Visconti. "'Tis Arezzo, I hear his voice."
The door was again thrown wide, this time upon a splendid cavalier, clad in magnificent armor, shining beneath his travel-stained scarlet cloak.
"Success rest upon your helm, Visconti, for Lombardy to Belluno is yours!" He swept his cap off, and stood, flushed and panting, before the eager, excited company, who rose to a man.
"Modena?" asked Visconti. "And Mantua?"
"Yours," said Guido d'Arezzo. "And of Ferrara I myself received the keys, and rode post-haste to Milan, through a country that dared not raise a finger, where even the nobles came uncovered to my stirrup; and so from thence I followed you here—with these as proof of my success." He stepped aside, showing a glimpse of the disordered room beyond, and beckoned to one of the men behind him, taking two great standards from him.