COUNT. Giovanna, dear Giovanna, I that once The wildest of the random youth of Florence Before I saw you--all my nobleness Of nature, as you deign to call it, draws From you, and from my constancy to you. No more, but speak. LADY GIOVANNA. I will. You know sick people, More specially sick children, have strange fancies, Strange longings; and to thwart them in their mood May work them grievous harm at times, may even Hasten their end. I would you had a son! It might be easier then for you to make Allowance for a mother--her--who comes To rob you of your one delight on earth. How often has my sick boy yearn'd for this! I have put him off as often; but to-day I dared not--so much weaker, so much worse For last day's journey. I was weeping for him: He gave me his hand: 'I should be well again If the good Count would give me---- COUNT. Give me. LADY GIOVANNA. His falcon. COUNT (_starts back_). My falcon! LADY GIOVANNA. Yes, your falcon, Federigo! COUNT. Alas, I cannot! LADY GIOVANNA. Cannot? Even so! I fear'd as much. O this unhappy world! How shall I break it to him? how shall I tell him? The boy may die: more blessed were the rags Of some pale beggar-woman seeking alms For her sick son, if he were like to live, Than all my childless wealth, if mine must die. I was to blame--the love you said you bore me-- My lord, we thank you for your entertainment, [_With a stately curtsey_. And so return--Heaven help him!--to our son. [_Turns--_ COUNT (_rushes forward_). Stay, stay, I am most unlucky, most unhappy. You never had look'd in on me before, And when you came and dipt your sovereign head Thro' these low doors, you ask'd to eat with me. I had but emptiness to set before you, No not a draught of milk, no not an egg, Nothing but my brave bird, my noble falcon, My comrade of the house, and of the field. She had to die for it--she died for you. Perhaps I thought with those of old, the nobler The victim was, the more acceptable Might be the sacrifice. I fear you scarce Will thank me for your entertainment now. LADY GIOVANNA (_returning_). I bear with him no longer. COUNT. No, Madonna! And he will have to bear with it as he may. LADY GIOVANNA. I break with him for ever! COUNT. Yes, Giovanna, But he will keep his love to you for ever! LADY GIOVANNA. You? you? not you! My brother! my hard brother! O Federigo, Federigo, I love you! Spite of ten thousand brothers, Federigo. [_falls at his feet_.