He bent from the saddle and lifted from her shoulder a long lock of her curling hair, and stroked it, dropping it with a sigh.
"Give me these," he said, pointing to the lilies; "all the flowers I know grow in Gian's garden,—Gian is the Duke of Milan."
And at his words, and the tone in which he spoke them, Graziosa's pity overcame her fear.
In silence, tears in her eyes, she handed him the flowers. He took them eagerly, but before she could withdraw her hand, he grasped her arm with a childish exclamation and touched the bracelet of fine workmanship she wore upon the wrist.
"I will have this too," he said, laughing with satisfaction: but the girl drew her arm back sharply and turned to go.
Tisio fumed. "The bracelet," he said peevishly, and the page motioned to her harshly to remain.
Graziosa turned to him in confusion and distress.
"I cannot give it him," she said, the tears starting. "I entreat thee, sir, ask him to let me go."
But the page intimated to her warningly she had best make no to-do. There was only one law for the citizens of Milan: that was the tyranny of the Visconti; let the one who encountered it only in the capricious whim of the crazy Tisio be thankful.
"Hold it good fortune, it is naught but a bauble he demands," said the page. "Give him the bracelet; he will drop it, forgotten, to-morrow. Ask for me one day at the palace. I will restore it. But give it now, before he grows angry. Thou hadst better."