CHARLES: You utter and he seemeth still of life.

FULVIA: He was a child in mimic mail clad out When first this threshold poured its welcome to me.

CHARLES: Softly you muse it, and call to your eyes No quailing nor a flame of execration!

You do not burst out on me? from me do Not shrink as from an executioner?

FULVIA: I am a woman who in tears came to Your strength, in tears depart.

CHARLES: And will not judge?

But fear me--fear, and flee?--You shall not go!

FULVIA: Perhaps----

CHARLES: Again "perhaps"--this calm "perhaps!"---- To Rome?--I say you shall not.

FULVIA: Yet should he, Antonio, from those curtains come----

CHARLES: Should--should?

You speak not reasonably. Why do you say "If he should come?"

FULVIA: Because----

CHARLES: You've touched And led me trembling from reality!

Those curtains?--those?--just those?--You shall not go.

FULVIA: I will not then.

CHARLES: But something breaks from you, And as an air of resurrection stirs.

Speak; on your words I wait unutterably.

FULVIA: Did not a soldier lately come, my lord, Breathless with eager speech of mutiny----?

CHARLES: Well--well----?

FULVIA: Within your guard?

CHARLES: My guard? No--yes---- What do I see yet cannot in your words?

FULVIA: The mutiny was roused at my command.

CHARLES: Say it--say all!

FULVIA: To save you the mad blot Of a son's blood.

CHARLES: Antonio----?

FULVIA: Lives!

CHARLES: Low--low---- Joy come too furious has piercing peril.

He lives?--You have done this? With these soft hands, These little hands, held off the shears of Fate?

Have dared? and have not feared?

FULVIA: Your danger was My fear--that, and no more.

CHARLES: He lives?--I have No worth, no grat.i.tude, no gift that may Answer this deed--no glow, no eloquence But would ring poor in rarest words of earth.

He lives?--Years yet are mine. Too brief they'll be To muse with love of this!

FULVIA: No, no, my lord.

CHARLES: But where is he? Belief, tho' risen, strains In me as if 'twere fast in cerements That seeing must unbind.

FULVIA: Turn then, and see.

(_ANTONIO steps from the curtains._)

CHARLES: Antonio!--boy! boy!

ANTONIO: My father! (_They embrace._)

_Re-enter CARDINAL._

CARDINAL: Princess, If your decision and desire are still----

(_Sees ANTONIO._)

FULVIA: Your eyes look upon flesh, lord Cardinal.

(_A cry is heard, then weeping._)

ANTONIO (_startled_): Whose pain is this?--strangely it hurts me--strangely!

_Enter CECCO hastily, bearing robe and coronet._

CECCO: My lord, the lady Helen's little maid----

(_Sees ANTONIO. Shrinks from him._)

ANTONIO: What of her? Are you horrified to stone!

Her maid?--There are than risen dead worse things And worse to dread!--her maid?

CECCO: Sir----

ANTONIO: Forth with it!

She direness of her mistress brings? some tale That earth elsewhere abyssless gaped her up?

That b.u.t.terfly or bud turn asp to bite her?

CECCO: Sir--she--the maid craves audience with the duke.

ANTONIO: Fetch her, and quickly.