“Come, lady,” said the king, seizing the hand of the luckless lady. “Come, I’ll strew thy path with flowers. Time shall bring thee no heavy hours. Rather let smiles be where now are tears and whitened cheeks. Come, come.”
So with his prey the Christian king departed, leaving the old lord bent and wretched with grief.
But not for long—not for long. Now, his eyes sparkled, for hate was there. His head was erect again, and his breath came and went in short angry catches. He ran to the secret door, and as though calling to a dog, he bade the robber chief come forth.
As Ernani stepped into the room, the grandee ran to the wall, and took down a couple of swords.
“Now, robber, doubly robber, vengeance is mine.”
“What! will a grandee fight with a poor bandit?”
“At least, thou wast born noble, even if now thou art vile. Follow me!”
“No, no.”
“What—has all nobility left thee?”
“I am still too noble to fight with age, Senor.”