"Ah miserable, miserable Isabella! For what a man have you sacrificed your life!"
"The letter!"
"I have told you the only way to obtain it."
"Your blood be upon your own head."—And drawing his dagger with his left hand, Troilo sought to stab him. Lionardo did not move a step: intrepid, his arms still folded on his breast, he stood ready to suffer a violence to which, by his personal weakness, as well as by his being unarmed, he could oppose no resistance. Troilo had almost reached him, when the door was hastily thrown open, and Lelio Torelli appeared, much excited, and exclaimed with a loud voice:
"His Lordship, Duke of Bracciano!"
This name had the effect of a Medusa's head upon Troilo; he recoiled, quickly replacing his dagger in its sheath, and endeavoring to compose his ruffled countenance; but these two contrary sentiments, anger and self-control, instead of inducing composure, so disordered him that he was fearful to look upon.
Isabella, who was lying terrified upon the couch, raised herself as if by electricity, and stood looking intently at the door.
The Knight, Salviati, thinking that not being a member of the family, he might go out as if nothing had happened, saluting the Duke as he passed, and reserving his compliments for another time, departed without any appearance of haste, and with his usual composure. Passing through the halls and down the staircase, he wondered greatly at neither meeting the Duke, nor seeing in the court-yard nor at the door, any indications of his arrival; he did not understand what it meant, but did not deem it prudent to go back to discover, thinking that it could be explained at some other time.
Isabella and Troilo kept their eyes intently fixed upon the door for some moments, expecting to see Sir Paolo Giordano appear; but finding that they looked in vain, Troilo, overcoming his astonishment the first, asked Lelio.
"Well, where is the Duke?"