him to put aside
the thought of that which he also may be imperilling.

Irma's shrill crescendos and octave-leaps, assisted by her peculiar
attitudes of strangulation, came out well in this scene. The murmurs
concerning the sour privileges to be granted by a Lazzeruola were
inaudible. But there has been a witness to the stipulation. The
ever-shifting baritono, from behind a pillar, has joined in with an aside
phrase here and there. Leonardo discovers that his fealty to Camilla is
reviving. He determines to watch over her. Camillo now tosses a perfumed
handkerchief under his nose, and inhales the coxcombical incense of the
idea that he will do all without Camilla's aid, to surprise her; thereby
teaching her to know him to be somewhat a hero. She has played her part
so thoroughly that he can choose to fancy her a giddy person; he remarks
upon the frequent instances of girls who in their girlhood were wild
dreamers becoming after marriage wild wives. His followers assemble, that
he may take advantage of the exchanged key of silver. He is moved to seek
one embrace of Camilla before the conflict:--she is beautiful! There was
never such beauty as hers! He goes to her in the fittest preparation for
the pangs of jealousy. But he has not been foremost in practising the
uses of silver keys. Michiella, having first arranged with her father to
be before Camillo's doors at a certain hour with men-at-arms, is in
Camilla's private chamber, with her hand upon a pregnant box of ebony
wood, when she is startled by a noise, and slips into concealment.
Leonardo bursts through the casement window. Camilla then appears.
Leonardo stretches the tips of his fingers out to her; on his knees
confesses his guilt and warns her. Camillo comes in. Thrusting herself
before him, Michiella points to the stricken couple 'See! it is to show
you this that I am here.' Behold occasion for a grand quatuor!

While confessing his guilt to Camilla, Leonardo has excused it by an
emphatic delineation of Michiella's magic sway over him. (Leonardo, in
fact, is your small modern Italian Machiavelli, overmatched in cunning,
for the reason that he is always at a last moment the victim of his poor
bit of heart or honesty: he is devoid of the inspiration of great
patriotic aims.) If Michiella (Austrian intrigue) has any love, it is for
such a tool. She cannot afford to lose him. She pleads for him; and, as
Camilla is silent on his account, the cynical magnanimity of Cam