“Hold—thou art a Borgia.”
Hark to what he whispers. “I—I a Borgia?”
“Thy ancestors were mine. Thou durst not shed the blood of thy people.”
“I—I a Borgia?”
“What have I said? have I forbidden thee to kill me? Rather I should bid thee kill me, for each day I die a thousand deaths. And thou, oh live, live, Gennaro. If thou canst save thyself, and if thou wilt not, thou dost destroy thyself. See, see, the phial is not broken. Thou canst yet be saved. Ah! thou takest it from my hand. Drink! drink!”
“I—I a Borgia?”
“Drink. No, do not hear that sound, ’tis nothing—’tis but the wind.”
“Oh Maffio, ’tis thy voice, the poison kills thy youth the first. Good bye, good bye.”
“They shall live, if thou wilt save thyself. For thy mother’s sake.”
“How darest thou name my mother?”