He forces her to her knees. Again the avenging steel is high in the air. Another moment and he shall thrust it downwards through the air--down, down, into her wicked heart. But she speaks five words--and see! The steel has fallen from his hand, and is lying harmless on the floor, his hands are clasped upon his head, and she may kill him without fear and so save herself. What is it then she has said? The words were:-- “Hold--thou art a Borgia.” Hark to what he whispers. “I--I a Borgia?” “Thy ancestors were mine. Thou durst not shed the blood of thy people.” “I--I a Borgia?” “What have I said? have I forbidden thee to kill me? Rather I should bid thee kill me, for each day I die a thousand deaths. And thou, oh live, live, Gennaro. If thou canst save thyself, and if thou wilt not, thou dost destroy thyself. See, see, the phial is not broken. Thou canst yet be saved. Ah! thou takest it from my hand. Drink! drink!” “I--I a Borgia?” “Drink. No, do not hear that sound, ’tis nothing--’tis but the wind.” “Oh Maffio, ’tis thy voice, the poison kills thy youth the first. Good bye, good bye.” “They shall live, if thou wilt save thyself. For thy mother’s sake.” “How darest thou name my mother?” “And who may name her, if not I?” “Perchance, thou didst destroy her also.” “Ah, no! she lives.” “She lives, she lives, and I shall never see her.” Here the quick poison struck him so that he reeled against a high Gothic pillar to save himself from falling, and as his hands lay on his breast, he leaned his head slowly backward, and still he cried “Mother, mother, that I could die in her arms. Back, back, woman, do not touch me. Oh, mother! mother!” “A woman, guilty, yet penitent, quailing and kneeling at the feet of him whom she has slain, who lowers her head as I do mine, and fearingly doth shut out sight by covering her eyes with both her hands, as I do, Gennaro. This woman is thy mother.” As she spoke, he was sustaining himself against the Gothic pillar, like a brave man as he was, willing to meet death standing--rocking round the pillar from right to left, and clinging to it with weak hands. But the last words stay him. Rigid he stands for a moment, then as she flinches away from him, yet stretching out her arms, he falls down, and to her breast. “In my mother’s arms. At last in my mother’s arms, I die.”--And as her arms crept round him he was dead. * * * * * As he lay there, she looking on him, the doors were opened, notwithstanding her orders, and there at the head of the steps stood the duke and many ladies. No fear now had she of him, her Gennaro was dead. He might come and scorn, upbraid, insult her now. No matter, she did not care. Hark! she speaks. “He was my son, my hope, my comfort. He would have saved me. Where now is hope? All lost. All lost. Heaven hath turned from me.” Her head fell and her cheek lay against her child’s. They went to lift her. And then they learnt that she was dead.