Bellarion asked a question or two, and then professed himself not only ready, but honoured by the trust reposed in him.
They embraced, and parted, Facino to mount and ride away, Bellarion to await the groom who was to fetch his horse and Werner von Stoffel who was to detail the men for his special escort.
As Facino gave the word to ride, the Countess thrust her head between the leather curtains of her litter.
'Where is Bellarion?'
'He does not ride with us.'
'He doesn't ...? You are leaving him at Abbiate?'
'No. But I have other work for him. I am sending him on a mission.'
'Other work?' Her usually sleepy eyes grew wide awake and round. 'What work?'
'Nothing that will imperil him.' He spurred his horse forward to avoid further questions. 'Push on there!'
They reached Milan as dusk was falling, and the snow had ceased. They entered by Porta Nuova, and went at a trot through the slush and filth of the borgo. But miraculously the word of Facino's coming ran ahead. They found the great square thronged with people who had turned out to acclaim him.