CHAPTER XIV.
Ma lasciamo, per Dio, Signore, ormai
Di parlar d'ira, e di cantar di morte.[1]
Orl. Fur., Canto xvii. xvii.
The young actress was led to, and left alone in, a chamber adorned with all the luxurious and half-Eastern taste that at one time characterised the palaces of the great seigneurs of Italy. Her first thought was for Zanoni. Was he yet living? Had he escaped unscathed the blades of the foe? — her new treasure — the new light of her life — her lord, at last her lover?
She had short time for reflection. She heard steps approaching the chamber ; she drew back, but trembled not. A courage not of herself, never known before, sparkled in her eyes, and dilated her stature. Living or dead, she would be faithful still to Zanoni! There was a new motive to the preservation of honour. The door opened, and the Prince entered in the gorgeous and gaudy costume still worn at that time in Naples.
"Fair and cruel one," said he, advancing with a
- ↑ But leave me, I solemnly conjure thee, Signor, to speak of wrath, and to sing of death.
