Go we now to the gardens of the palace, where the moon looked down upon two female forms, the lady Leonora and Ines, her confidante. Leonora had been telling Ines of her love for some unknown knight. She had seen him at the last tournament--where he appeared in dark mysterious garments and carried a shield without armorial bearings. He gained the laurel; and she,--she placed that laurel crown upon his brow. But, alas!--almost immediately after, came news of a civil war, the assembly within a day dispersed, and with the rest went the unknown warrior. But--but a few nights since she heard, near her casement, the plaintive notes of a guitar and words of a plaintive song. Drawing near, she heard her own name sighed,--again and yet again; till the very air seemed to breathe forth the name of Leonora. “‘Twas he--by the pale moonlight she saw ’twas he.” “I would, lady, that you forgot him.” “Counsel easily given, Ines, but not kindly taken. Come, let us return to the palace.” Scarcely had they departed when the Count di Luna came softly towards the palace windows, that he might be near his beloved Leonora. The garden was bathed in the light of the virgin moon. As he approached a window, from which streamed the rays of a taper, he started; for a voice he well knew began to carol forth a song--the voice of the troubadour, who had dared approach the palace windows, night after night, for many nights. “O’er the lands of the earth He hath wandered from birth; He hath much--wants no more, Does this same troubadour. He hath treasure, I’m told, Quite surpassing all gold, ’Tis a lady--no more. He’s a rich troubadour.” Hardly had the last words floated away on the air than the window, behind which was the taper, opened on to the broad terrace. The next moment the Lady Leonora was softly coming down the broad steps to the green lawn. As she reached the foot of the marble stairs, she saw a manly figure. Guessing it to be that of the singer, she ran and put her arms about the new comer’s neck. “Thou art late. I have counted the moments for thy coming.” But the voice of her lover sounded many steps away, crying, “Faithless one!” And then, by the light of the moon, which had seemed darkness to her, coming from the illuminated chamber, she perceived how terrible had been her mistake. “Manrico, thy Leonora thought this man to be thyself; he hath not yet spoken; by his voice I should have learnt my fault.” The count, in a whirl of rage, cried, “He is but a coward or a sinner who wears a mask--remove that mask.” The troubadour took off his mask. “Thou, Maurico,” said the count. “Thou!--proscribed--condemned to death--a rebel.” “Defeat thy rival, count, by calling here thy guards.” “The only guard I call is this--an honorable one.” And the noble drew his sword. “Thou shalt degrade its blade.”