FIESCO. Open the gate, soldiers.
SCENE VII.
The former—CALCAGNO, out of breath.
CALCAGNO. All is lost! all is lost! Fly, every one that can!
BOURGOGNINO. What's lost? Have they flesh of brass? Are our swords made of rushes?
FIESCO. Consider, Calcagno! An error now is fatal.
CALCAGNO. We are betrayed! Your Moor, Lavagna, is the rascal! I come from the senate-house. He had an audience of the duke.
VERRINA (with a resolute tone, to the sentinels). Soldiers! let me rush upon your halberts! I will not perish by the hangman's hands. (The assembly show marks of confusion.)
FIESCO (with firmness). What are you about? 'Sdeath, Calcagno!
Friends, 'tis a false alarm. (To CALCAGNO, aside.) Woman that thou art
to tell these boys this tale. Thou, too, Verrina? and thou, Bourgognino?
Whither wouldst thou go?
BOURGOGNINO. Home—to kill my Bertha—and then return to fall with thee.