“Thou askest, lady, what is already granted; what the king could not forgive, the emperor will not look on as offence.... You are all pardoned!... And as for thee, my lord Ernani, let the memory of the father’s death be forgotten in the justice done his son. Thou art again lord of Arragon, Cordova, and Segovia; and thy lady—behold her!”
The new emperor placed the hand of Elvira in that of Ernani. And then again the emperor spoke, “Ye are all pardoned!”
But how black was the menacing cloud near at hand. The old grandee, sternly frowning, and pressing his hand about a certain hunting horn, whose blast was death.
Part IV.—The Masquerade.
In Sarragossa, in the palace of the reinstated lord, his marriage was being celebrated. Happy at last—the couple bound together for life.
The palace of Ernani, or rather Don Giovanni of Arragon, was all ablaze with light; and the pale moonbeams, shooting into the palace-grounds, showed numberless mysterious masquers flitting to and fro. It was a grand masquerade the bridegroom was giving.
But among the masquers was one who spoke to nobody; who took note of nobody; who moved along stealthily from group to group with a firm merciless tread. They who looked very closely at the mysterious masquer, noted that his hair was white, and that his eyes glittered fearfully below his mask.
“Who is he?”
“See how angrily he looketh about him.”