Taurello kept up, as though unaware

Palma was by to guide him, the old device

—Something of Milan—"how we muster thrice

The Torriani's strength there; all along

Our own Visconti cowed them"—thus the song

Continued even while she bade him stoop,

Thrid somehow, by some glimpse of arrow-loop,

The turnings to the gallery below,

Where he stopped short as Palma let him go.

When he had sat in silence long enough