“THE JOY OF THE PROFANE IS BUT A PASSING SMOKE.” “Again those sounds!” “See--see, how the lights are going out.” “Gennaro, I can barely see thee.” “Orsini, Orsini, here.” “Methinks this is no jest,” cried another. And the six came close together. Amongst them was no Gubetta. A moment or two of bated breath, still the lights are fading. Another moment, and the room is almost dark as midnight. “Let us fly.” They drew to the great door, sped rapidly up the steps, and then the whole six stood motionless, their hands pressing against the unyielding doors. They came down from the steps, but the next moment the doors swung open, and as they turned towards them, thinking, perhaps, for a moment, that it _was_ a jest--behold there stood Lucrezia Borgia, looking down on them, proud, triumphant--a demon. Behind her were men-at-arms, ready to do her utmost will. “Lost!--lost!--lost!” “Yes, Signors. Lost. You gave me a ball at Venice. In return I give you a supper here in Ferrara. For you, my guests, I have prepared five shrouds, which shall enwrap you when the poison now coursing through your blood, hath diligently done its duty.” “Five did’st thou say? But here are six of us!” “Oh heavens, Gennaro!” Then rapidly she turned to the guard behind her; almost by a gesture she bade them remove the destroyed gentlemen, and coming down the steps, called to Gennaro to remain. Helpless--lost--they showed no spirit. Hope had utterly left them. They embraced their friend Gennaro one after the other, and went mournfully from the hall. Gennaro alone remaining, she ran swiftly to the doors, bidding one close them, and ordering that whatever happened, no one should enter the room. “Thou wert here, Gennaro, thou wert here.” “Near my friends, lady.” “Again thou art poisoned.” “And my friends, lady?” Suddenly her face lit up. “The antidote, the antidote I gave thee.” Love of life is strong--so he felt for the little bottle, and he held it before her. “Drink it.” “No--with my friends I either live or die.” She took the little bottle, looked at it agonizingly, and then said, “There is barely enough for thee. Holy virgin, he has cast it to the ground.” “But if I must die, thou demon--if I, my friend, my dear Orsini, if we all die, shalt thou live--thou? Ah! thou also hast reached death; none will come to help thee; hast thou not closed the door thyself. Prepare thee, thou shalt die!” See how the knife glitters in the pale moonlight as it sweeps high up into the air. “Gennaro! Gennaro! wouldst thou kill me?” “On thy knees. I grant thee that mercy, die on thy knees.” “I forbid thee!” “Thou forbid me, thou who hast destroyed me. To thy knees! To thy knees!”