FIESCO (fixes his eyes upon it with an eager look, which he withdraws slowly—then, with convulsive wildness, exclaims). No! ye devils! That is not the face of Gianettino—Oh, malicious fiend! Genoa is mine, say you? Mine? (Rushing forward with a dreadful shriek.) Oh, trickery of hell! It is my wife! (He sinks to the ground in agony—The CONSPIRATORS stand around in groups, shuddering—a dead silence.)
FIESCO (raising himself exhausted—in a faint voice). But tell me truly, Genoese, have I indeed slain my wife? I conjure you look not so ghastly upon this illusion! Heaven be praised! there are fates which man has not to fear, because he is but man. This must be one of them. He who is denied the joys of heaven can scarce be doomed to bear the pains of hell. This dread infliction would be even more. God be praised! It must be so. And this is naught but the chimera of a disordered brain.
SCENE XIII.
The former—ARABELLA enters weeping.
ARABELLA. Let them kill me! What have I now to dread? Have pity on me, Genoese. 'Twas here I left my dearest mistress, and nowhere can I find her.
FIESCO (approaching her—with a low and trembling voice.) Was Leonora thy mistress?
ARABELLA (with pleasure). Are you there, my most gracious and dear good lord? Be not displeased with us. We could no longer restrain her.
FIESCO (in alarm). Restrain her! Wretch! From what?
ARABELLA. From following——