“No, Rosabella,” said the bravo, in an altered voice, “what you saw was no illusion. Your favoured Flodoardo is no other than Abellino the bravo.”
“It is false!” interrupted Rosabella, starting from the ground in despair, and throwing herself for refuge on Camilla’s bosom. “Monster! thou canst not be Flodoardo! such a fiend can never have been such a seraph. Flodoardo’s actions were good and glorious as a demi-god’s! ’Twas of him that I learned to love good and glorious actions, and ’twas he who encouraged me to attempt them myself; his heart was pure from all mean passions, and capable of conceiving all great designs. Never did he scruple, in the cause of virtue, to endure fatigue and pain, and to dry up the tears of suffering innocence—that was Flodoardo’s proudest triumph! Flodoardo and thou—! Wretch, whom many a bleeding ghost has long since accused before the throne of heaven, darest thou to profane the name of Flodoardo!”
Abellino (proud and earnest).—Rosabella, wilt thou forsake me? Wilt thou retract thy promise? Look, Rosabella, and be convinced: I, the bravo, and thy Flodoardo are the same.
He said, removing the patch from his eye, and passed a handkerchief over his face once or twice. In an instant his complexion was altered, his bushy eyebrows and straight black hair disappeared, his features were replaced in their natural symmetry, and lo! the handsome Florentine stood before the whole assembly, dressed in the habit of the bravo Abellino.
Abellino.—Mark me, Rosabella! Seven times over, and seven times again, will I change my appearance, even before your eyes, and that so artfully that, study me as you will, the transformation shall deceive you. But change as I may, of one thing be assured: I am the man whom you loved as Flodoardo.
The Doge gazed and listened without being able to recover from his confusion, but every now and then the words “Dreadful! dreadful!” escaped from his lips, and he wrung his hands in agony. Abellino approached Rosabella, and said in the tone of supplication: “Rosabella, wilt thou break thy promise? Am I no longer dear to thee?”
Rosabella was unable to answer; she stood like one changed to a statue, and fixed her motionless eyes on the bravo.
Abellino took her cold hand and pressed it to his lips.
“Rosabella,” said he, “art thou still mine?”
Rosabella.—Flodoardo, oh! that I had never loved, had never seen thee!