fighting a mortal battle with another in your breast. Which will
conquer?

She knows, she knew it ere she entered the tent. The mother fled from
the child, but she cannot abandon her new-found son. Oh, maternal love,
thou dost hover in radiant bliss far above the clouds, and amid choirs
of angels! Oh, maternal heart, thou dost bleed pierced with swords, more
full of sorrows than any other!

Poor, poor Florette! On this July morning she was enduring superhuman
tortures, all the sins she had committed arrayed themselves against her,
shrieking into her ear that she was a lost woman, and there could be no
pardon for her either in this world or the next. Yet!--the clouds drift
by, birds of passage migrate, the musician wanders singing from land
to land, finds love, and remorselessly strips off light fetters to seek
others. His child imitates the father, who had followed the example
of his, the same thing occurring back to their remotest ancestors!
But eternal justice? Will it measure the fluttering leaf by the same
standard as the firmly-rooted plant?

When Zorrillo saw Flora by the daylight, he said, kindly: "You have been
weeping?"

"Yes," she answered, fixing her eyes on the ground. He thought she was
anxious, as on a former occasion, lest his election to the office of
Eletto might prove his ruin, so he drew her towards him, exclaiming
"Have no fear, Bonita. If they choose me, and Mannsfeld comes, as he
promised, the play will end this very day. I hope, even at the twelfth
hour, they will listen to reason, and allow themselves to be guided into
the right course. If they make the young madcap Eletto--his head will be
at stake, not mine. Are you ill? How you look, child! Surely, surely you
must be suffering; you shall not go out at night to nurse sick people
again!"

The words came from an anxious heart, and sounded warm and gentle.
They penetrated Florette's inmost soul, and overwhelmed with passionate
emotion she clasped his hands, kissed them, and exclaimed, softly
"Thanks, thanks, Pasquale, for your love, for all. I will never, never
forget it, whatever happens! Go, go; the drum is beating again."

Zorrillo fancied she was uttering mere feverish ravings, and begged her
to calm herself; then he left the tent, and went to the place where the
election was to be held.

As soon as Flora was alone, she threw herself on her knees before the
Madonna's picture, but knew not whether it would be right to pray that
her son