ORSINA.
'Tis well. Then I will entrust you with a secret--a secret, which will make each hair upon your head stand on end. But here, so near the door, some one might overhear us. Come here--(puts her finger to her mouth)--mark me, it is a secret--a profound secret. (Places her mouth to his ear, as if about to whisper, and shouts as loudly as she can) The Prince is a murderer!
MARINELLI.
Countess! Countess! Have you lost your senses?
ORSINA.
Senses? Ha! ha! ha! (laughing loudly). I have very seldom, if ever, been so satisfied with my understanding as I am at this moment. Depend upon it, Marinelli--but it is between ourselves--(in a low voice)--the Prince is a murderer--the murderer of Count Appiani. The Count was assassinated, not by robbers, but by the Prince's myrmidons, by the Prince himself.
MARINELLI.
How can so horrid a suspicion fall from your lips, or enter your imagination?
ORSINA.
How? Very naturally. This Emilia Galotti, who is now in the palace, and whose bridegroom--was thus trundled head over heels out of the world--this Emilia Galotti did the Prince to-day accost in the Church of the Dominicans, and held a lengthy conversation with her. That I know, for my spies not only saw it, but heard what he said. Now, sir, have I lost my senses? Methinks I connect the attendant circumstances very tolerably together. Or has all this happened, too, by accident? If so, Marinelli, you have as little idea of the wickedness of man as you have of prevision.