Visconti laughed.
"Resistance? Lombardy is ours, my good de Lana! Resistance——"
"Is hardly wise," put in da Ribera.
"And quite useless," said della Torre, with a low bow.
The splendid group was passing Giannotto, standing dully beneath St Sebastian, when the Duke stopped.
"Come, I may have need of you, Giannotto."
The secretary's hand stole to his breast. He felt the handle of the stiletto, and wondered why he had picked it up.
The doors were thrown open for the Duke to pass, and as they passed out into the stairs, Giannotto slunk into his place behind Visconti.
Here were also noise and crowds; the coming and going of soldiers and courtiers, excited talk and laughter, and in the distance the sound of the drums, for the army was preparing to march. The front of the palace was alive with them, the rattle of the new-fashioned artillery, the shouted commands, the sunshine upon the standards and the armor, and the fluttering, colored plumes.
But Visconti turned aside to the back of the palace, and descended the steps that led to the garden. It was quiet here, all sounds subdued and distant.