“Surely; I have been his shadow. That house is his abode.”
“Ah, she would fain have him near the palace.”
“And in it, Signor, if Gubetta speaks the truth.”
“It shall be his tomb.”
“The Signor hears that music, ’tis from his house. The youth makes merry with his friends. ’Tis just the same each night, they only sleep at dawn.”
“Let him take a long farewell of them, ’tis the last time they shall carouse with him.”
With angry strides he went up to the ducal house. No need to knock. Too secret-loving was this man for that. Slowly a small door opened, and he and his companion entered.
Far different from these two gloomy men were the half dozen laughing youths who now came trooping away from Gennaro’s wine cups. He came from the house with them, willing as host to show he did not love to part with them.
“Good bye, good bye, dear friends.”
“Good bye Gennaro,” cried the others; and Orsini added, “Thou hast the gravest face amongst us, thou art ever sad.”