He was interrupted by the appearance of Rosabella, who, with tottering steps and pale cheeks, advanced slowly into the apartment. She saw Flodoardo, and a faint blush overspread her countenance. Flodoardo rose from his seat, and welcomed her with an air of distant respect.
“Do not go yet,” said the Doge; “perhaps in half an hour I may be at liberty: in the meanwhile I leave you to entertain my poor Rosabella. She has been very ill during your absence; and I am still uneasy about her health. She kept her bed till yesterday, and truly I think she has left it too soon.”
The venerable Doge quitted the apartment, and the lovers once more found themselves alone. Rosabella drew near the window; Flodoardo at length ventured to approach it also.
“Signora,” said he, “are you still angry with me?”
“I am not angry with you,” stammered out Rosabella, and blushed as she recollected the garden scene.
“And you have quite forgiven my transgression?”
“Your transgression?” repeated Rosabella, with a faint smile; “yes, if it was a transgression, I have quite forgiven it. Dying people ought to pardon those who have trespassed against them, in order that they, in their turn, may be pardoned their trespasses against Heaven—and I am dying; I feel it.”
“Signora!”
“Nay, ’tis past a doubt. It’s true, I have quitted my sick-bed since yesterday; but I know well that I am soon to return to it, never to leave it more. And therefore—therefore, I now ask your pardon, signor, for the vexation which I was obliged to cause to you the last time we met.”
Flodoardo replied not.