'The flowers from bright Aurora's head
We pluck'd to strew a happy bed,
Shall they be dipp'd in blood ere night?
Woe to the nuptials! woe the sight!'

Rudolfo, Romualdo, Arnoldo, and the others, advance toward Camillo.
Michiella calls to them encouragingly that it were well for the deed to
be done by their hands. They bid Camillo to direct their lifted swords
upon his enemies. Leonardo joins them. Count Orso, after a burst of
upbraidings, accepts Camillo's offer of peace, and gives his bond to quit
the castle. Michiella, gazing savagely at Camilla, entreats her for an
utterance of her triumphant scorn. She assures Camilla that she knows
her feelings accurately.

'Now you think that I am overwhelmed; that I shall have a restless night,
and lie, after all my crying's over, with my hair spread out on my
pillow, on either side my face, like green moss of a withered waterfall:
you think you will bestow a little serpent of a gift from my stolen
treasures to comfort me. You will comfort me with a lock of Camillo's
hair, that I may have it on my breast to-night, and dream, and wail, and
writhe, and curse the air I breathe, and clasp the abominable emptiness
like a thousand Camillos. Speak!'

The dagger is seen gleaming up Michiella's wrist; she steps on in a bony
triangle, faced for mischief: a savage Hunnish woman, with the hair of a
Goddess--the figure of a cat taking to its forepaws. Close upon Camilla
she towers in her whole height, and crying thrice, swift as the assassin
trebles his blow, 'Speak,' to Camilla, who is fronting her mildly, she
raises her arm, and the stilet flashes into Camilla's bosom.