ARABELLA. I remember it well. All Genoa's female hearts were in rebellious ferment for so enviable a prize! LEONORA (in rapture). And now to call him mine! Giddy, wondrous fortune!--to call the pride of Genoa mine!--he who from the chisel of the exhaustless artist, Nature, sprang forth all-perfect, combining every greatness of his sex in the most perfect union. Hear me, damsels! I can no longer conceal it--hear me! I confide to you something (mysteriously)--a thought!--when I stood at the altar with Fiesco,--when his hand lay in mine,--a thought, too daring for woman, rushed across me. "This Fiesco, whose hand now lies in thine--thy Fiesco"--but hush! let no man hear us boast how far he excels all others of his sex. "This, thy Fiesco"--ah, could you but share my feelings!--"will free Genoa from its tyrants!" ARABELLA (astonished). And could this dream haunt a woman's mind even at the nuptial shrine? LEONORA. Yes, my Arabella,--well mayest thou be astonished--to the bride it came, even in the joy of the bridal hour (more animated). I am a woman, but I feel the nobleness of my blood. I cannot bear to see these proud Dorias thus overtop our family. The good old Andreas--it is a pleasure to esteem him. He may indeed, unenvied, bear the ducal dignity; but Gianettino is his nephew--his heir--and Gianettino has a proud and wicked heart. Genoa trembles before him, and Fiesco (much affected)-- Fiesco--weep with me, damsels!--loves his sister. ARABELLA. Alas, my wretched mistress! LEONORA. Go now, and see this demi-god of the Genoese--amid the shameless circles of debauchery and lust! hear the vile jests and wanton ribaldry with which he entertains his base companions! That is Fiesco! Ah, damsels, not only has Genoa lost its hero, but I have lost my husband! ROSA. Speak lower! some one is coming through the gallery. LEONORA (alarmed). Ha! 'Tis Fiesco--let us hasten away--the sight of me might for a moment interrupt his happiness. (She hastens into a side apartment; the maids follow.) SCENE II GIANETTINO DORIA, masked, in a green cloak, and the MOOR, enter in conversation. GIANETTINO. Thou hast understood me! MOOR. Well---- GIANETTINO. The white mask---- MOOR. Well---- GIANETTINO. I say, the white mask---- MOOR. Well--well--well---- GIANETTINO. Dost thou mark me? Thou canst only fail here! (pointing to his heart). MOOR. Give yourself no concern. GIANETTINO. And be sure to strike home---- MOOR. He shall have enough. GIANETTINO (maliciously). That the poor count may not have long to suffer. MOOR. With your leave, sir, a word--at what weight do you estimate his head? GIANETTINO. What weight? A hundred sequins---- MOOR (blowing through his fingers). Poh! Light as a feather! GIANETTINO. What art thou muttering? MOOR. I was saying--it is light work. GIANETTINO. That is thy concern. He is the very loadstone of sedition. Mark me, sirrah! let thy blow be sure. MOOR. But, sir,--I must fly to Venice immediately after the deed.