"Sir Lionardo, what are you saying? If I am not mistaken you mean to offend me."
"Isabella, surely I did not come here for that. Do you believe that I take pleasure in saying what I do? Do you think that I have spent my years so uselessly as to hazard imprudent words or worse? Why do you repulse me? Why dissemble with me? But no matter; I do not ask the secrets of your heart. If you do not believe me worthy of sharing them, I consent to remain ignorant. But hear what is said of you; hear the danger and let us provide a remedy."
"I have done no wrong; who can accuse me? What trace"——
Salviati murmured in her ear, "The trace is outside the gate of Prato."
"Ah!" cried Isabella frightened, and starting up after a few moments as if to go away, added, "At least let him be saved."
Lionardo, detaining her by her dress, said, "Stay, we can see to it better here."
Isabella, shaking her head, tossed her hair with both hands from her forehead, as if, grown bold by despair, she wished all her shame to be read there, and murmured—
"Well, I am guilty."
"Isabella, your life is in danger."
"Mine? And by whom? Has Giordano returned from Rome?"