As the woman heard these words, and recognized the voice, she flinched, and strove to run from the place.
But they stopped her; each way she made a step, on each side stood a stern, unyielding man. They stood about her, yet not near her.
“Gennaro, Gennaro; help!”
“Signors!” cried the youth, “what wouldst thou? This lady I protect; he that insults her is my friend no longer.”
“We would wish to tell the lady who we are, and tell thee who she is,” cried they earnestly, and yet with something of mockery in their tones, “then she may go; we shall have no wish to keep her with us.”
“I, for one, am that Maffio Orsini, whose brother you murdered as he slept.”
“And I, I am that man whose aged uncle you destroyed on his threshold.”
“While I, fair lady, am the nephew of one who died quaffing your wine.”
“I, Petruci, O lady, am cousin to him whose dominions you stole.”
“And I was the friend of the man, who sleeps, by your will, beneath the Tiber.”