"Milan!"
The voices and shouts rose to a deafening pitch of confusion, the very air seemed fevered with excitement; a flock of startled doves flew past in panic, a rainbow of color; flew so low and so close to de Lana as to blind him for a moment with the whirr of their wings, and in that moment was a terrible cry.
They passed, beating the lilies down.
"My lord!" cried de Lana. "My lord!"
But even as he spoke, he knew Gian Visconti was dead.
THE END