Lomellino.—Unless Charles the Fifth is deceived by those about him, or is too proud to allow the greatness of an enemy, he must say, perforce, “There is but one man on earth whom I fear, and who is worthy to contend with me, and that man is Andreas.”
Andreas.—I suspect he will be sorely displeased when he receives my answer to the message by which he notified to me the imprisonment of the French king.
Lomellino.—Displeased he will be, signor, no doubt of it; but what then? Venice need not fear his displeasure, while Andreas still lives. But when you and your heroes are once gone to your eternal rest—then, alas for thee, poor Venice. I fear your golden times will soon come to their conclusion.
Andreas.—What! Have we not many young officers of great promise?
Lomellino.—Alas, what are most of them? Heroes in the fields of Venus. Heroes at a drinking-bout. Effeminate striplings, relaxed both in mind and body. But how am I running on, forgetful. Ah, when one is grown old, and conversing with an Andreas, it is easy to forget everything else. My lord, I sought you with a request, a request, too, of consequence.
Andreas.—You excite my curiosity.
Lomellino.—About a week ago there arrived here a young Florentine nobleman called Flodoardo, a youth of noble appearance and great promise.
Andreas.—Well?
Lomellino.—His father was one of my dearest friends. He is dead now, the good old generous nobleman. In our youth we served together on board the same vessel, and many a turbaned head has fallen beneath his sword. Ah, he was a brave soldier.
Andreas.—While celebrating the father’s bravery, you seem to have quite forgotten the son.