with JULIA--looks toward
GIANETTINO.). Our friend Doria seems displeased. May I inquire the
reason?

GIANETTINO. No wonder. These eternal messages.

[Exit hastily.

FIESCO. The play awaits us, too, signora. May I offer you my hand?

JULIA. Stay, let me take my cloak. 'Tis no tragedy I hope, count? It
would haunt me in my dreams.

FIESCO (sarcastically). 'Twill excite immoderate laughter.

[He hands her out--the curtain falls.

ACT IV.

SCENE I.--Night. The court of FIESCO'S palace. The lamps lighted.
Persons carrying in arms. A wing of the palace illuminated. A heap of
arms on one side of the stage.

BOURGOGNINO, leading a band of soldiers.

BOURGOGNINO. Halt! Let four sentinels be stationed at the great gate.
Two at every door of the palace. (The sentinels take their posts.) Let
every one that chooses enter, but none depart. If any one attempts to
force his way run him through. (Goes with the rest into the palace. The
sentinels walk up and down. A pause.)

SCENE II.

ZENTURIONE entering.

SENTINELS AT THE GATE (call out). Who goes there?

ZENTURIONE. A friend of Lavagna. (Goes across the court to the palace
on the right.)

SENTINEL THERE. Back! (ZENTURIONE starts, and goes to the door on the
left.)

SENTINEL ON THE LEFT. Back!

ZENTURIONE (stands still with surprise. A pause. Then to the SENTINEL
on the left). Friend, which is the way to the theatre?

SENTINEL. Don't know.

ZENTURIONE (walks up and down with increasing surprise--then to the
SENTINEL on the right). Friend, when does the play begin?

SENTINEL. Don't know.

ZENTURIONE (astonished, walks up and down. Perceives the weapons;
alarmed). Friend, what mean these?

SENTINEL. Don't know.

ZENTURIONE (wraps himself up in his cloak, alarmed). Strange!

SENTINELS AT THE GATE (calling out). Who goes there?

SCENE III.

The former, ZIBO entering.

ZIBO. A friend of Lavagna.

ZENTURIONE. Zibo, where are we?

ZIBO. What mean you?

ZENTURIONE. Look around you, Zibo.

ZIBO. Where? What?

ZENTURIONE. All the doors are guarded!

ZIBO. Here are arms----

ZENTURIONE. No one that will answer----

ZIBO. 'Tis strange!

ZENTURIONE. What is it o'clock?

ZIBO. Past eight.

ZENTURIONE. How bitter cold it is!

ZIBO. Eight was the hour appointed.

ZENTURIONE (shaking his head). 'Tis not all as it should be here.

ZIBO. Fiesco means to jest with us----

ZENTURIONE. To-morrow wil