"What is this that ye tell me?" Manrico cried, his eyes strained, his body stiffened with horror. "Thou who art so tender of me—" and he fell back upon his couch overcome with the frightful deed.
"I was mad! but now you must avenge me. You must ruin my enemy. Have I not tended thee as my own, and loved thee?"
"Oh, tale of woe! Mother, speak no more." Frightful as the deed had been, he tried to soothe the demented old woman who had truly cared for him with a mother's care. He had known no other mother, but the tale had distracted him. The knowledge that the Count di Luna, whose life he had spared, was his own brother, explained much to him. No wonder something had stayed his hand when he might have killed him. Yet, he also recalled that his unsuspecting brother loved Leonora. In all their encounters, di Luna had shown only a hard, unyielding heart, and Manrico had no reason to love him. After all, Manrico was but a wild young brigand, living in a lawless time, when nobles themselves were highwaymen and without violating custom. Such a one had little self-control.
"Show di Luna no mercy, my son," Azucena urged. "Art thou not my son? my own, dear son?" Then suddenly remembering all that her distraught condition had betrayed her into saying, she cried remorsefully:
"I am an old and wretched woman who has seen much sorrow. When I spoke I was distracted with my griefs, but remember the Count di Luna and do not spare him. If you do, he will take the Lady Leonora from thee."
"True, mother, and I will kill him," the troubadour said suddenly. The thought of di Luna's rivalry overcame his sense of humanity.
The forge fire died down, and Manrico, exhausted by his mother's story, lay back upon his couch while his mother continued to sit, lost in her tragic thoughts, but while he rested, half sleeping, the long clear note of a horn was heard, and Manrico started up.
"It is Ruiz," he said anxiously, believing it to be his servant. Snatching his horn from his belt, he blew a clear, answering blast. In a moment a messenger, who was not Ruiz, ran in.
"Quick, what is thy news?" Manrico demanded, made apprehensive by illness and the stories he had heard. He expected misfortune from every quarter.
"A letter for thee, Master," the messenger panted, leaning against the rocky wall, worn with running. Manrico read excitedly: