FIESCO. Well, well (significantly). Till Genoa be two days older, inquire not! condemn me not! (Leads her politely to another apartment.)
SCENE IV.
FIESCO; the MOOR, entering hastily.
FIESCO. Whence come you thus out of breath?
MOOR. Quick, my lord!
FIESCO. Has anything run into the net?
MOOR. Read this letter. Am I really here? Methinks Genoa is become shorter by twelve streets, or else my legs have grown that much longer! You change color? Yes, yes—they play at cards for heads, and yours is the chief stake. How do you like it?
FIESCO (throws the letter on the table with horror). Thou woolly-pated rascal! How camest thou by that letter?
MOOR. Much in the same way as your grace will come by the republic. An express was sent with it towards Levanto. I smelt out the game; waylaid the fellow in a narrow pass, despatched the fox, and brought the poultry hither——
FIESCO. His blood be on thy head! As for the letter, 'tis not to be paid with gold.