The duke attended by the bravo, ascended a ricketty flight of stairs to a room, more dilapidated, if possible, than the one below.
Saying it was like sleeping in the open air, the noble flung down his hat and sword, fell upon the bed, and was soon asleep.
The ruffian by that time was drinking the wine the duke had left. At last he said slowly—“Go up, and if he sleeps, bring away his sword.”
The gipsey girl obeyed sorrowingly, for the stranger was so handsome that she had grown to feel some pity for him.
As she stole up the stairs another girl was near at hand—the wretched Gilda; who, disguised in the clothes of a page, came creeping towards the inn.
Nearer and nearer till she was close to the door and pressing it. Looking through the crevice, she saw the girl coming down with the sword glittering in her hand.
“Do not kill him—do not kill him,” cried the gipsey girl.
“Kill him!” cried the fool’s daughter.
There, still listening, she heard the gipsey tempt him, saying, that when the fool came back he could take his money and kill him. But the bravo angrily cried that his honor was dear to him; he would not kill the fool, he would slay the stranger. Rigoletto had paid him well.
Gilda shuddered as she listened; so her father had paid the bravo to kill the duke.