"I do not know," he murmured, rising upon his elbow. "Mother, do you know when I had disarmed him, something seemed to hold me back, to paralyze my arm. I hated him, but I could not strike the death-blow." "His father burned my mother at the stake, Manrico. Ye must avenge me." And at that moment a gipsy interrupted the talk between mother and son by crying: "The sun rises! we must be off!" Thereupon the gipsy band threw their tools into bags, gathered up their cloaks and hats, and one by one and in groups they disappeared down the mountain-side, leaving Azucena and her wounded son alone in the ruined hut. He remained wrapped in his mantle, sword and horn beside him, while the old hag continued to croon about the horrors of the past. In her ever-increasing rage she called again and again upon Manrico to avenge her. "Again those vengeful words, mother! There is something in thy voice which I do not understand." "Listen! I will tell thee! I have told thee how my mother was accused, arrested by the old Count and burned alive. Well, in that fearful moment, crazed with grief I crept into the palace, snatched the Count's child, and rushed out, thinking only of my revenge. With maddened mind I tossed the babe into the flames that were consuming my mother--or so I thought! But when I looked around there was the child of noble birth, and my own was gone. It was you who were left to me. My own child had gone into the flames. I snatched thee up and fled." "What is this that ye tell me?" Manrico cried, his eyes strained, his body stiffened with horror. "Thou who art so tender of me--" and he fell back upon his couch overcome with the frightful deed. "I was mad! but now you must avenge me. You must ruin my enemy. Have I not tended thee as my own, and loved thee?" "Oh, tale of woe! Mother, speak no more." Frightful as the deed had been, he tried to soothe the demented old woman who had truly cared for him with a mother's care. He had known no other mother, but the tale had distracted him. The knowledge that the Count di Luna, whose life he had spared, was his own brother, explained much to him. No wonder something had stayed his hand when he might have killed him. Yet, he also recalled that his unsuspecting brother loved Leonora. In all their encounters, di Luna had shown only a hard, unyielding heart, and Manrico had no reason to love him. After all, Manrico was but a wild young brigand, living in a lawless time, when nobles themselves were highwaymen and without violating custom. Such a one had little self-control. "Show di Luna no mercy, my son," Azucena urged. "Art thou not my son? my own, dear son?" Then suddenly remembering all that her distraught condition had betrayed her into saying, she cried remorsefully: "I am an old and wretched woman who has seen much sorrow. When I spoke I was distracted with my griefs, but remember the Count di Luna and do not spare him. If you do, he will take the Lady Leonora from thee."