"It was the more horrible, Herr Doge, that it should come from one who was
justly condemned to the axe. He rejected the priests; he would have naught
of any but me. My soul lothed the wretch--yet so few ever showed an
interest in us--and it would have been cruel to desert a dying man! At the
end, he placed the child in my care, furnishing more gold than was
sufficient to rear it frugally to the age of manhood, and leaving other
valuables which I have kept as proofs that might some day be useful. All I
could learn of the infant's origin was simply this. It came from Italy,
and of Italian parents; its mother died soon after its birth,"--a groan
escaped the Doge--"its father still lived, and was the object of the
criminal's implacable hatred, as its mother had been of his ardent love;
its birth was noble, and it had been baptized in the bosom of the church
by the name of Gaetano."
"It must be he!--it is--it must be my beloved son!--" exclaimed the Doge,
unable to control himself any longer. He spread wide his arms, and
Sigismund threw himself upon his bosom, though there still remained
fearful apprehensions that all he heard was a dream.
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