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Rosabella started from Flodoardo's embrace with a cry of terror; Flodoardo quitted his kneeling posture, yet seemed by no means disconcerted at the discovery. Andreas gazed upon them for some minutes, with a look which expressed at once anger, melancholy, and the most heartfelt disappointment. He sighed deeply, cast his eyes towards heaven, and in silence turned to leave the apartment.
All trembled while they listened to the voice of the terrible assassin, who strode through the chamber proud and majestic as the monarch of the infernal world. Rosabella opened her eyes; their first look fell upon the bravo. "Oh, God of mercy!" she exclaimed, "he is still there. Methought, too, that Flodoardo . No, no; it could not be! I was deceived by witchcraft."
"You seem to lay too much stress on this fantastic apology," answered the Doge, contemptuously; "at least you cannot expect that it should have much weight with me." "I say it once more, my lord," resumed Flodoardo, while he rose from the ground, "that I intend to make no apology; I mean not to excuse my love for Rosabella, but to request your approbation of that love.
Flodoardo started from his place, apparently in no less confusion than herself, and relieved her from her indecision by taking her hand with respect, and conducting her to the seat which he had just quitted. Now, then, she could not possibly retire immediately, unless she meant to violate every common principle of good breeding.
The conspirators, with pallid cheeks and staring eyes, filled up the background, and a dead and awful silence prevailed through the assembly, scarcely interrupted by a single breath. "And now, then," said Flodoardo, "prepare yourselves, for this terrible Abellino shall immediately appear before you. Do not tremble; he shall do no one harm."
She arrived at the fountain, and instantly drew back, covered with blushes, for on the bank of moss, shaded by the protecting canopy, whose waving blossoms were reflected on the fountain, Flodoardo was seated, and fixed his eyes on a roll of parchment. Rosabella hesitated whether she should retire or stay.
"Abellino!" said Andreas advancing to the bravo, and extending his hand towards him. "I am not Abellino," replied he, smiling, while he pressed the Doge's hand respectfully to his lips "neither am I Flodoardo of Florence. I am by birth a Neapolitan, and by name Rosalvo. The death of my inveterate enemy the Prince of Monaldeschi makes it no longer necessary to conceal who I really am."
"Have I forgotten my promise, my resolution? Fly, Rosabella, fly, or this hour makes you faithless to yourself and duty." She tore the flower to pieces, and threw it contemptuously on the ground. "I understand you, Flodoardo," said she; "and having understood you, will never suffer this subject to be renewed. Here let us part, and let me not again be offended by a similar presumption. Farewell!"
No wonder, too, that Flodoardo entirely withdrew himself from a world which was become odious to him, since Rosabella was to be seen in it no longer; and that he devoted himself in solitude to the indulgence of a passion which he had vainly endeavoured to subdue, and which, in the impetuosity of its course, had already swallowed up every other wish, and every other sentiment.
They are never to be found when sought for, and always present when least expected; they are at once everywhere and nowhere. There exists not a nook in Venice which our spies are not acquainted with, or have left unexamined, and yet has our police endeavoured in vain to discover the place of their concealment. Flodoardo.
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