ODOARDO.

A servant came in haste to tell me that my family was in danger near here. I flew hither, he mentioned, and found that Count Appiani has been wounded--and carried back to town--and that my wife and daughter have found refuge in the palace. Where are they, sir, where are they?

MARINELLI.

Be calm, Colonel. Your wife and daughter have sustained no injury save from terror. They are both well. The Prince is with them. I will immediately announce you.

ODOARDO.

Why announce? merely _announce_ me?

MARINELLI.

For reasons--on account of--on account of--you know, sir, that you are not upon the most friendly terms with the Prince. Gracious as may be his conduct towards your wife and daughter--they are ladies--will your unexpected appearance be welcome to him?

ODOARDO.

You are right, my lord, you are right.

MARINELLI.

But, Countess, may I not first have the honour of handing you to your carriage?

ORSINA.

By no means.

MARINELLI (_taking her hand, not in the most gentle way_).

Allow me to perform my duty.

ORSINA.

Softly!--I excuse you, Marquis. Why do such as you ever consider mere politeness a duty, and neglect as unimportant what is really an essential duty? To announce this worthy man immediately is your duty.

MARINELLI.

Have you forgotten what the Prince himself commanded?

ORSINA.

Let him come, and repeat his commands. I shall expect him.

MARINELLI (_draws_ Odoardo _aside_).

I am obliged to leave you, Colonel, with a lady whose intellect--you understand me, I mention this that you may know in what way to treat her remarks, which are sometimes singular. It were better not to enter into conversation with her.

ODOARDO.

Very well. Only make haste, my lord.

(_Exit_ Marinelli.)

Scene VII.

Orsina, Odoardo.

ORSINA (_after a pause, during which she has surveyed_ Odoardo _with a look of compa.s.sion, while he has cast towards her a glance of curiosity_).

Alas! What did he say to you, unfortunate man?

ODOARDO (_half aside_).

Unfortunate!

ORSINA.

Truth it certainly was not--at least, not one of those sad truths which await you.

ODOARDO.

Which await me? Do I, then, not know enough? Madam--but proceed, proceed.

ORSINA.

You know nothing?

ODOARDO.

Nothing.

ORSINA.

Worthy father! What would I give that you were my father! Pardon me.

The unfortunate so willingly a.s.sociate together. I would faithfully share your sorrows--and your anger.

ODOARDO.

Sorrows and anger? Madam--but I forget--go on.

ORSINA.

Should she even be your only daughter--your only child--but it matters not. An unfortunate child is ever an only one.

ODOARDO.

Unfortunate?--Madam! But why do I attend to her? And yet, by Heaven, no lunatic speaks thus.