On the conflicting feelings of this strange personage, his hatred to the husband, and his relenting towards the wife; and the licentious plans of Concini for the seduction of Isabella, whom he has seen without knowing her to be the wife of his deadly enemy, the interest of the piece is made to turn.  The jealous Isabella is at last persuaded that the Marechale has robbed her of the attachment of her husband, and appears as a witness against her on the pretended charge of witchcraft and sorcery.

While the Marechal, even in the dungeon of the Bastile, is awing her oppressors into silence, bands of murderers are seeking Concini through the streets of Paris.  As he issues from the house of the Jew which contains Isabella, he hears through the obscurity of the tempestuous night the cries of the populace, but he thinks they are but the indications of some passing tumult.  He rests for a moment against a pillar on the pavement, but recoils again, as from a serpent, for he perceives it is the stone on which Ravaillac had planted his foot when he assassinated Henry, and in that murder it is darkly insinuated he had a share.  Through the darkness of the Rue de la Ferronnerie, Michael Borgia is seen advancing, conducting the two children of his rival.  He has promised to the Marechale to save them from the dangers of the night, and has brought them in safety to his own threshold.  But his promise of safety extended not to Concini.  The wild ferocity of the following scene has many parallels in the actual duels of the time, as delineated in Froissart and Brantome.

Borgia (with the children.)—­Poor children! come in; you will be safer here than in the houses to which they have pursued us.

The Boy.—­Ah! there is a man standing up.

Borgia (turning the lantern which the child holds towards Concini.)—­Concini!

Concini.—­Borgia! (Each raises his dagger, and seizes with the left arm the right of his enemy.  They remain motionless, and gazing at each other.  The children escape into the street and disappear.)

Concini.—­Let go my arm, and I will liberate yours.

Borgia.—­What shall be my security?

Concini.—­Those children whom you have with you.

Borgia.—­I am labouring to save them.  Your palace is on fire—­your wife is arrested—­your fortune is wrecked—­base, senseless adventurer!

Concini.—­Have done—­let go—­let us fight!

Borgia (pushing him from him.)—­Back, then, and draw your sword.

Concini (draws.)—­Begin.

Borgia.—­Remove those children—­they would be in our way.

Concini.—­They are gone.

Borgia.—­Take these letters, assassin!  I had promised to restore them to you. (He hands to Concini a black portfolio.)

Concini.—­I would have taken them from your body.