Morosini appeared indignant at the supposition: indeed his mind was not yet made up to any decision; and though fanaticism had taken alarm at the obstinate heresy of his former idol, he was far from lending a willing assent to an act of violence. “I am cruelly situated:” he exclaimed, at length, and the facile tears stood in his eyes--“remember, Don Sebastian, that at the period I swore to serve you unto death, I knew not that you were otherwise than a son of the church: since then you have undeceived me; and that difference of opinion on matters of conscience which you have yourself established, obliges me to stifle the pleadings of my ardent prejudice in your favor, and to place my future conduct at the disposal of my spiritual director. In this instance I am only the organ of the republic; it is she, who waits the result of her message to Rome: till that arrives, your majesty must condescend still to consider this house as your own. You command here, as the guest of Giuseppe Morosini.” Sebastian turned towards the Italian with a strong expression of disgust at his now-offensive courteousness: his blood boiled: but quickly subsiding, he repeated with a smile of contempt a short quotation from the Poet of England. “Note this, good Sirs! When zeal begins to sicken and decay, It useth an enforced ceremony.” “Morosini!” he added, (and he spoke sternly, and with an air of majesty) “I must be spared in future this mockery of respect. “You cannot feel it, if you sincerely believe me reprobate of Heaven; and if you do not believe me so, this abandonment of my cause either from interest or from fear, renders you despicable in the eyes of an honest and a brave man. Leave me, Sir! I remain then, your prisoner--but I have friends without these walls who may with God’s blessing shake them to their centre; yea, the foundations of your city itself.” Sebastian turned away as he concluded, and Morosini abruptly retired. Sebastian was still too ingenuous for the world he lived in: the moment that roused his feelings or inflamed his passions, laid his whole heart open: that mantle of reserve, in which long efforts had taught him to wrap himself, was instantly discarded, and he shewed himself to his adversary, with all his weaknesses and all his strength. Fatal was his present sincerity: Morosini left him, mortified, humiliated, and enraged; one hour’s discourse had made him his determined foe. When Kara Aziek rejoined her husband, she saw in his perturbed looks the herald of disagreeable tidings: her first thought was of Blanche, and she pronounced her name. Sebastian quieted this natural fear, and then, conscious that it is vain to think of concealing evils which we know must endure for a certain period, he proceeded to tell her the nature of his interview with Morosini.