uel sentence in my arms!

LEONORA (with astonishment). Speak out. In thy arms!

CALCAGNO. In my arms, which open themselves to receive a forsaken woman,
and to console her for the love she has lost.

LEONORA (fixing her eyes on him). Love?

CALCAGNO (kneeling before her with ardor). Yes, I have said it. Love,
madam! Life and death hang on your tongue. If my passion be criminal
then let the extremes of virtue and vice unite, and heaven and hell be
joined together in one perdition.

LEONORA (steps back indignantly, with a look of noble disdain). Ha!
Hypocrite! Was that the object of thy false compassion? This attitude
at once proclaims thee a traitor to friendship and to love. Begone
forever from my eyes! Detested sex! Till now I thought the only victim
of your snares was woman; nor ever suspected that to each other you were
so false and faithless.

CALCAGNO (rising, confounded). Countess!

LEONORA. Was it not enough to break the sacred seal of confidence? but
even on the unsullied mirror of virtue does this hypocrite breathe
pestilence, and would seduce my innocence to perjury.

CALCAGNO (hastily). Perjury, madam, you cannot be guilty of.

LEONORA. I understand thee--thou thoughtest my wounded pride would plead
in thy behalf. (With dignity). Thou didst not know that she who loves
Fiesco feels even the pang that rends her heart ennobling. Begone!
Fiesco's perfidy will not make Calcagno rise in my esteem--but--will
lower humanity. [Exit hastily.

CALCAGNO (stands as if thunderstruck, looks after her, then striking his
forehead). Fool that I am. [Exit.

SCENE IV.

The MOOR and FIESCO.

FIESCO. Who was it that just now departed?

MOOR. The Marquis Calcagno.

FIESCO. This handkerchief was left upon the sofa. My wife has been
here.

MOOR. I met her this moment in great agitation.

FIESCO. This handkerchief is moist (puts it in his pocket). Calcagno
here? And Leonora agitated? This evening thou must learn what has
happened.

MOOR. Miss Bella likes to hear that she is fair. She will inform me.

FIESCO. Well--thirty hours are past. Hast thou executed my commission?

MOOR. To the letter, my lord.

FIESCO (seating himself). Then tell me how they talk of Doria, and of
the government.

MOOR. Oh, most vilely. The very name of Doria shakes them like an
ague-fit. Gianettino is as hateful to them as death itself--there's
naught but murmuring. They say the French have been th