With a frantic yell Alessandro stumbled upon the floor.  “Traitor! assassin!” he screamed.  Then, turning his eyes full upon Lorenzino, he faintly added:  “This from thee—­my lover!”

Alessandro made as though to defend himself, and with the red blood gushing from his back, he threw himself upon his murderer and they struggled on the floor.

Michaele was powerless to strike:  his weapon might have slashed his master.  Alessandro, with dying energy, seized the hand of Lorenzino and bit two of his fingers to the bone, so that the miscreant yelled with agony.  Then they parted—­Lorenzino to bind up his broken bones and Alessandro to staunch his wound.  “At him,” cried the madman, and Michaele struck at him with his sword, cutting off his right cheek and his nose, and then he got his dagger at his throat, and turned it round in the gaping wound, until he nearly decapitated his unhappy victim.  Again Lorenzino heaved at him with his reeking weapon and fell upon him, covering himself with blood, and bit his face in savage rage!  Alessandro fell away and lay, breathing heavily in a fearsome heap.  Then Lorenzino, chuckling with fiendish glee, roared out, “See, Michaele, my brother, the wretch is dead!”

Raising the body of the still breathing Duke, his murderers threw it upon the bed and covered it with the sheets.  Then Lorenzino opened a window and looked out upon the Via Larga, to see if anybody was about.  Not a soul was there.  It was early morning, and by the new light of day he tore off a piece of paper and scribbled upon it, with Alessandro’s blood, “Vincit amor patriae laudumque immensa cupido,” and pinned it over Alessandro’s heart!

Both he and Michaele washed their hands and their swords—­their clothes they could not cleanse—­and Lorenzino, having filled his pouch with the money and jewels he possessed, they picked up their cloaks and hats, and, locking the door behind them, departed.  In the basement they encountered Fiaccio, Lorenzino’s faithful body-servant, groom and valet combined, and he was bidden to follow his master.

The three made their way with haste to the residence of Bishop Angelo Marzi, the chief custodian of the City Gates, of whom Lorenzino demanded post-horses, showing to the servant Alessandro’s signet-ring, which he had pulled off his victim’s finger.  The Bishop made no demur, being well accustomed to the erratic ways of the cousins.  They took the road to Bologna, where Lorenzino had the two broken fingers removed, and his hand dressed, and then on they posted without further halt.

Lorenzino made at once for the house of Filippo negli Strozzi, the leader of the exiled Florentines in that city, and rousing him from his slumbers, embraced him with emotion, and said:  “See, this is the key of the chamber where lies the body of Alessandro.  I have slain him.  Look at my clothes, this blood is his, no more shall Florence suffer at his hands.  Revenge is sweet, but freedom is sweeter!”