The Genoese will see to that, and the Commandant, as he
is a gentleman, will write in his report that he took the crown from
us, having caught us at unawares. . . . I cannot shoot you, my
brother. Even you would not ask this of me--of me that have served
you, and that serve you now in the end. . . . See, I make no
reproaches. . . . We were badly brought up, we two, and when you were
young and helpless, vile men took hold on you and taught you to be
capable of--of this thing. But we are Colonne, we two, and can end
as Colonne." She dipped a hand within the bosom of her bodice and
drew out a phial. "Dear, I will drink after you. It will not be
hard; no, believe me, it will not be so very hard--a moment, a pang
perhaps, and everything will yet be saved. O brother, what is a
pang, a moment, that you can weigh it against a lifetime of
dishonour!"
The Prince sprang up cursing.
"Dishonour? And who are you that talk to me of dishonour?--you that
come straying here out of the night with your _cicisbeo_ at your
heels? You, with the dew on you and your dress bedraggled, arrive
straight from companioning in the woods and prate to me of shame--of
the blood of the Colonne!" He smote a hand on the table and spat
forth a string of vile names upon her, mixed with curses; abominable
words before which she drew back cowering, yet less (I think) from
the lash of them than from shock and horror of his incredible
baseness.
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