“Aye. It can—it must! Thou knowest, Rosabelle, the price I paid for thee ere now. Thou art yet doomed to exact from me a sterner sacrifice. When I saw thee first, the fairest dame in France, at the gay field of Poictou, I drew in love for thee with my first breath. Thou wert then the wife of Julian D’Este. What I suffered for thee then, my recollection brings too vividly to light. What agonies I now experience, knowing the barbarous revenge which my already too deeply oppressed countryman must undergo, when my tale is told to the duke—yet all for thy sake—no human imagination can depict. Then I languished beneath the load of an affection, which honor, reason, duty, chivalry, all combined to oppose. Powerless opposition! The deity of love scorns all defensive armor. I sought, impelled by fate, the charms of thy society. For thee, Julian D’Este was no fitting spouse. Harsh and unrefined, he repelled thine youthful affections, while I, unhappy, too surely was the magnet which did attract them. Then followed our fatal step. Was it folly? My heart still tells me it is no folly to adore thee. Was it madness? Madness never spoke in so clear a tone of reason as in that, which on the day, hallowed to my remembrance, as we perused that antique volume, displayed all our feelings—disclosed the secret emotions of our hearts—gave us soul to soul—and formed our future bliss—our future woe! No base and vicious inclinations—no vulgar voluptuousness disgraced our union. We felt that we were made for each other, and when Julian D’Este fell beneath my poniard, I thought it no crime added to my account, when I endeavored, by compassing his death, to confer happiness upon thee.” Rosabelle answered nought, but hung more devotedly around the neck of the count, while the soft blue of her eyes was dimmed with the rising tear. “What ensued—the impossibility of discovering the murderer of Julian—our farther intercourse—your brother’s hearty refusal of my suit, and the suspicion attached to our names, were but matters, which, had prudence been consulted ere the deed was done, she would have foretold. But who advises calmly when the burning fire of love threatens to consume him? In fine, the tyrant brought thee with him here to Florence, upon his election as captain and signor of the city. Here, secluded by him from the world, I had given thee up as lost. My faithful Spalatro discovered thy retreat, and as yet we had hoped that our secret interviews were undiscovered. Fatal infatuation! This very night has Pompeo Medici thrown out hints, nay, open assertions of his knowledge of our situation. Thanks to the death of Giovanni, else all had been discovered to the duke!” “Let me counsel thee to fly!” said Rosabelle, “as I have done before. There is no time to be lost. Myself will be companion of thy flight.”