And as the Duchess still kept her hand upon his head, Lelio, in an imploring voice, said to her—
"My Lady, for heaven's sake I beseech you to take your hand from my head."
"Should I not put it there?" asked the Duchess in tones slightly resentful, and withdrawing it quickly.
"Oh! my Lady, pity me, it burns my brain."
"I do not see why my hand should perform the office of the tunic of Nessus."
"I do not know, but I feel it." And the boy uttered these words in so tremulous and mournful a voice, that the Duchess put her hand to his forehead and exclaimed in a frightened tone—
"Dio mio! how it burns! Poor Lelio! I fear you are ill. Ah! you are fainting, and there is no one here to help him. Lelio! Lelio! Ah! he will die in my arms. Holy Virgin, help him!"
Lelio, his face as white as a waxen image, bathed in a cold perspiration, closed his eyes and leaned his head upon Lady Isabella's bosom, while she supported him with both arms. Recovering himself presently, he opened his eyes with a sigh, perceived where he was, and remembering how it had happened, and the reason of his fainting, he said sadly,
"I thought that I was dying. Oh, why did I not really die?"
The Duchess took some scented spirits and bathed his temples with it, although the youth tried respectfully to prevent her.