Then he dropped to his knee and tore the signet-ring from the hand of the dying man.
"To Milan!" he cried, springing up. "Haste! to Milan!"
"To Milan!" echoed Arezzo; "to Milan and the army——"
"Back—all of you!" said de Lana, and he raised Visconti. "He is not dead——"
"He is past life. To Milan!"
The garden was one wild, yelling confusion; the news was spreading like fire; each thought and acted for himself; and Giannotto, instrument of vengeance, whimpered on his knees.
The rush to the gate came by so close, the flying feet almost touched Visconti's face; and as della Torre passed, he struck his glove across him.
De Lana lifted Visconti from the grass, but with a last effort he struggled from him and dropped back.
"Milan!" he sobbed.
De Lana bent down eagerly to catch a muttered prayer, but there was nothing more.