CHAPTER 3.XIV.
Ma lasciamo, per Dio, Signore, ormai Di parlar d' ira, e di cantar di morte.
"Orlando Furioso," Canto xvii.

xvii.
(But leave me, I solemnly conjure thee, signor, to speak of wrath, and to sing of death.) The young actress was led to, and left alone in a chamber adorned with all the luxurious and half-Eastern taste that at one time characterised the palaces of the great seigneurs of Italy.

Her first thought was for Zanoni.

Was he yet living?
Had he escaped unscathed the blades of the foe,--her new treasure, the new light of her life, her lord, at last her lover?
She had short time for reflection.

She heard steps approaching the chamber; she drew back, but trembled not.