"Silence, unhappy woman!" he whispered, looking around.
"Alas! I, her own mother, have killed her! I mixed the fatal draught that caused his death."
"All is well," thought Cethegus. "She has no suspicion that Camilla drank, and still less that I saw her do so.--It is a terrible stroke of Fate!" he said aloud. "But reflect, what would have followed had she lived? She loved him!"
"What would have followed?" cried Rusticiana, receding. "Oh, if she but lived! Who can prevent love? Oh that she had become his--his wife--his mistress, provided only that she lived!"
"But you forget that he must have died?"
"Must? Why must he have died? So that you might carry out your ambitious plans? Oh, selfishness without example!"
"They are your plans that I carry out, not mine; how often must I repeat it? You have conjured up the God of Revenge, not I. Why do you accuse me if he demand a sacrifice? Think better of it. Farewell."
But Rusticiana violently seized his arm. "And that is all? And you have nothing more--not a word, not a tear for my child? And you would make me believe that you have acted thus to avenge her, to avenge me? You have never had a heart! You did not even love her--coldly you see her die! Ha, curses, curses upon thee!"
"Be silent, frantic woman!"
"Silent! no, I will speak and curse you! Oh that I knew of something that was as dear to you as Camilla was to me! Oh that you, like me, could see your whole life's last and only joy torn away--that you could see it vanish, and despair! If there be a God in heaven you will live to do so!"