These words are favorable; but do they bespeak actions of equal import?

MOOR. Yes--as the murmuring of the distant thunder foretells the
approaching storm. The people lay their heads together--they collect in
parties--break off their talk whenever a stranger passes by. Throughout
Genoa reigns a gloomy silence. This discontent hangs like a threatening
tempest over the republic. Come, wind, then hail and lightning will
burst forth.

FIESCO. Hush!--hark! What is that confused noise?

MOOR (going to the window). It is the tumult of the crowd returning from
the senate-house.

FIESCO. To-day is the election of a procurator. Order my carriage! It
is impossible that the sitting should be over. I'll go thither. It is
impossible it should be over if things went right. Bring me my sword and
cloak--where is my golden chain?

MOOR. Sir, I have stolen and pawned it.

FIESCO. That I am glad to hear.

MOOR. But, how! Are there no more sequins for me?

FIESCO. No. You forgot the cloak.

MOOR. Ah! I was wrong in pointing out the thief.

FIESCO. The tumult comes nearer. Hark! 'Tis not the sound of