'Whence comest thou?'
'From San Zeno in the hills.'
'What seek'st thou here?'
'Thy cure.'
The Duke started, and seemed actually to crouch for a moment. Then, while all held their breath in fear, of a sudden he fell back, and gripped a hand to his heart, and muttered, staring: 'The face!'
He closed his eyes, and passed a tremulous hand across his brow before he looked again; and lo! when he did so, the madness was past.
'Child,' he said hoarsely, almost whispered, 'what said'st thou? Come nearer: let me look at thee.'
He rose himself, with the word, stiffly, like an old man, and stood before the boy, and gazing hungrily for a little into the solemn eyes, dropped his own as if abashed—half-blinded. In the background, Bona, his wife, and the child Catherine clung together in a silence of fear and wonder.
'Ah, I am haunted!' shuddered the tyrant. 'Who told thee that? It is a face, child, a face—there—in the dead watches of the night—behind me—and by day, always the same, a damned clinging bur on my soul—not to be shaken off—always behind me!'
He gave a little jerk and motion of repugnance, as if he were trying to throw something off. Carlo struck in: 'Lord, let him sing to thee! I say no more.'