O Mary, Mother! 
    Thou, in whose breast all women’s thoughts have moved,
    All woman’s passions heaved.  Lo!  I adore! 
    Sweet Mother, hold my hands, rejoice with me: 
    My bridegroom cometh!

[During this invocation the Countess Fulvia has crept in, a stiletto in her hand.  She leans over the Regent and stabs her twice in the breast.]

Fulvia. Then with that!—­and that! 
    Go meet him!

Regent (turns, looks up, and falls on her face). 
    Oh!  I am slain!

Fulvia. And I am worse! 
    But there’s my flower, my red flower, on your breast.—­
    Go, meet your lord and show it!

[She passes down the steps as Lucetta runs in.]

Lucetta. Madam!  Madam! 
    The Duke is at the gate—­Madam!—­
    Christ! she is murdered!  Murder!  Murder!

Regent. Fie, Lucetta! peace!  What word to greet the Duke For his home-coming!  Lift me ...  Quick, my robe—­ My Crown!  Call no one.  O, but hasten!

Lucetta (helpless, wringing her hands).  Madam!

Regent. I need your strength, and must I steady you? 
Lucetta, years ago you disarrayed me
Upon my bridal night.  I would you’d whisper
The rogueries your tongue invented then. 
I have few moments, girl ...  I’d have them wanton. 
Make jest this mantle hides the maid I was. 
I’ll have no priest, no doctor—­Fetch Tonino! 
I must present his son—­
[Lucetta runs out.
All’s acted quick: 
Bride-bed, conception, birth—­and death!  But he
Shall sum it in one moment death not takes ... 
What noise of trumpets!...  Is the wound not covered?

[She wraps herself carefully in her mantle as the courtiers pour in.  The child Tonino runs to her and stands by her side.  Lucio, Cesario, all the Court, group themselves round her as the Duke enters.  He rushes in eagerly; but she sets her teeth on her anguish, and receives him with a low reverence.

Welcome my lord!

Duke. Ottilia!

Regent. Good my lord, Welcome!  This day is bright restores you to Your loyal Duchy.

Duke (impatient).  Wife!  Ottilia!

Regent (she lifts a hand to keep him at distance). 
There must be forms, my lord—­some forms!  Cesario,
Render the Duke his sceptre.  As bar to socket,
When the gate closes on a town secure,
So locks this rod back to his manly clutch—­
Cry all, ‘Long live the Duke!’

All. Long live the Duke!

Duke. Wife, make an end with forms!

Lucio (to Cesario).  And so say I!  A man would think my sister had no blood In her body.

Cesario (watching the Regent).  Peace, man:  something there’s amiss.

Regent. Yet here is he that sceptre shall inherit. 
Lucetta, lead his first-born to the Duke. 
His first-born!—­Nay but look on him how straight
Of limb, how set and shoulder-square, tho’ slender! 
He’ll sit a horse, in time, and toss a lance
Even with his father.