“Do I hear rightly? And but now such anger as thou didst show!”
“I pity him. ’Twas but a passing anger. I acted but in jest; he is too young to think of consequences. Again, to what good his death? Pardon him. Have pity on him. Let him live.”
“No, no, dear lady mine, my word is pledged. I never break my word.”
“Nay, dear duke, but I insist. And why, thou seemest to ask? ’Twere ungenerous to refuse thy consort a poor favor such as this. What is the youth to me? Pardon him. Have pity on him. Let him live.”
“No, no. What! pardon him who hath insulted thee! No, thou didst ask his death. And if I could pardon him,—nor could I—for thy dear sake I would not.”
“Let us both pardon, and be clement, duke, for clemency is glorious in us all, and most of all in kings.”
“No king am I, but a poor duke. I cannot spare him, duchess.”
“Why shouldst thou be so angry with this same Gennaro?”
“Dost thou not know?”
“I?”