'Nay,' said Bernardo, jumping up, 'if Madonna condescends?' and the exchange was made, and the men fell to.
In a moment or two Lanti looked up.
'What ails thee, Beatrice?'
'I am not hungry.'
The word had scarcely left her lips before, leaping to his feet, and sprawling across the table, he had snatched the untasted dish from under her hands, turned, and dashed it with its contents full in the face of Narcisso, who waited, with others, behind. Fouled, bleeding, half-stunned, the man crashed down in a heap, and in the same instant his master was upon him, poniard in hand.
'Confess, wretch, before I kill thee!' he roared. 'It was meant for my guest! Thou wouldst have poisoned him.'
'Mercy!' shrieked the creature, through his filthy mask. 'O lord, mercy!'
The girl, risen in her place, stood panting as if she had been running. She had voice no more than to gasp across, 'Bernardo! For the love of God! Bernardo!' and that was all.
'No mercy, beast!' thundered Carlo. 'Down with thee to hell unshriven!'
His strenuous lifted arm was caught in a baby grasp.