le--
Yet not so fast but he shall overtake
At length, and catch me panting. O, I charge you,
I charge you, daughters of Jerusalem,
Wake not my love beneath the forest bough
Where we lie dreaming!

_[Fanfare of trumpets in the distance.]_

Trumpets, hark! and drums!
They have landed! From the quay they march!
Flowers! flowers!
They are near ... I see him!... Carlo! lord and love!
He looks--waves--O 'tis he! O foolish heart!--
I had feared he'd ta'en a wound.
What is't they shout?
Eh? 'Victory!'--yes, yes. He's browner, thinner;
And the dear eyes, how gaunt!... Yes
'Victory!'
'Victory!' ... lord, and love!,..

_[The shouts of acclamation are heard now close
under the terrace. Spears and banners are
seen trooping past. Beside herself, she throws
flowers to them, laughing, weeping the while.
Then, running to the Chapel door, she
prostrates herself before the image of the
Virgin that crowns its archway.]_

O Mary, Mother!
Thou, in whose breast all women's thoughts have moved,
All woman's passions heaved. Lo! I adore!
Sweet Mother, hold my hands, rejoice with me:
My bridegroom cometh!

[_During this invocation the Countess Fulvia has
crept in, a stiletto in her hand. She leans
over the Regent and stabs her twice in the
breast.]_

_Fulvia._ Then with that!--and that!
Go meet him!

_Regent_ (_turns, looks up, and falls on her face_).
Oh! I am slain!

_Fulvia._ And I am worse!
But there's my flower, my red flower, on your breast.--
Go, meet your lord and show it!

[_She passes down the steps as Lucetta runs in.]_

_Lucetta._ Madam! Madam!
The Duke is at the gate--Madam!--
Christ! she is murdered! Murder! Murder!

_Regent._ Fie,
Lucetta! peace! What word to greet the Duke
For his home-coming! Lift me ... Quick, my robe--
My Crown! Call no one. O, but hasten!

_Lucetta_ (_helpless, wringing her hands_). Madam!

_Regent._ I need your strength, and must I steady you?
Lucetta, years ago you disarrayed me
Upon my bridal night. I would you'd whisper
The rogueries your tongue invented then.
I have few moments, girl ... I'd have them wanton.
Make jest this mantle hides the maid I was.
I'll have no priest, no doctor--Fetch Tonino!
I must present his son--
[_Lucetta runs out._
All's acted quick:
Bride-bed, conception,