She who had been Isabella Orsini reclined on the bed in a sitting posture: her hair loose and dishevelled, her arms stretched out, her face black, her eyes open, intent, and almost bursting from their sockets ... a fine rope yet girded her delicate neck, the ends of which were lost in the darkness of the room, and fastened in the ceiling.
Miserable spectacle of crime and perfidy!
"Thus perished Isabella dei Medici, who would have made herself and others happy, if heaven had granted to her either less beauty, or greater virtue, or better parents."[62]
The Duke, also as pale as death, repressing with violent effort the passion which agitated his soul, stood immovable in his place where with one hand holding the curtains back, and stretching the other towards his cousin, he thus spoke:
"Now my bed has become deserted ... for every woman will fear that it will be turned into a scaffold;—my house is deserted, for the father cannot live with the son whose mother he has strangled.... Days of sorrow and infamy,—sleepless nights, filled with remorse and fear,—bitter death ... terrible judgement of God,—behold the peace which thou hast given me, Troilo!—Thou, and no one else!—I know thee ... fully ... iniquitous and abject man ... and I feel and know that death must have been less bitter to this woman, who was my wife, than the knowledge of having lost the dignity of a Princess, of a wife and of a mother ... for so miserable and degraded a creature as thou art.—Wretch! The secret died not with thy accomplice ... no ... nor with her murder did I lose the trace of the traitor.—Now it is for thee to die. I could and should abstain from taking thy miserable soul from thy body with this honorable hand of a knight; a villain is enough for a villain;—but as thou wilt suffer a deserved death, I do not wish that thou shouldst complain of the manner of it, if we ever meet again in the next world."
Thus saying, he took two drawn swords, that lay at the feet of the corpse, and throwing one of them on the ground towards Troilo, added:
"Take it up, and defend thyself; and since thou hast lived as a traitor, die at least as a gentleman."
Like a bow bent by a strong hand, that snapping the cord straightens violently, thus Troilo starting up, as if possessed by a demon, gave a leap towards the open window behind him, leaned with both hands upon the seat, and with one leap jumped out of it. As fortune willed, although he fell on his head, he received no injury, on account of the window not being high from the ground. Starting again upon his feet, he rushed precipitately down the staircase.
The Duke, seeing this act, with no less fury rushed after him through the window, sword in hand.
Not a word—not a threat—there was only heard the sound of hurried steps upon the stairs.