"Orsetti," Nobili says, sternly, "I address myself to you. You are the oldest here. You are the first man I knew after I came to Lucca. You are all concealing something from me. I entreat you, Orsetti, as man to man, tell me whose name has been coupled with that of my affianced wife? That it is a lie I know beforehand—a base and palpable lie! She has been reared at home in perfect solitude."
Nobili spoke with passionate vehemence. The hot blood rushed over his face and neck, and tingled to his very fingers. Now he glances from man to man in an appeal defiant, yet pleading, pitiful to behold. Every face grows grave.
Orsetti is the first to reply.
"I feel deeply for you, Nobili. We all love you."
"Yes, all," responded Malatesta and Ruspoli, speaking together.
"You must not attach too much importance to idle gossip," says
Orsetti.
"No, no," cried Ruspoli, "don't. I will stand by you, Nobili. I know the lady by sight—a little English beau"
"Scandal! Who is the man? By God, I'll have his blood within this very hour!"
Nobili is now wrought up beyond all endurance.
"You can't," says Orazio Franchi, tapping his heel upon the marble pavement. "He's gone."