Renier will not come.
Hassan. No word of him?
Berengere. None, though he yesterday left Nicosie
With the priest Moro.
Hassan. Lady —
Berengere. Wait no longer.
Come, women, with your lamps and light the way.
[The women go by the steps. Berengere follows.
Hassan (staring after her). The reason of this mood in her? the reason?
Something is vile. Lady Yolanda weeps
In secret; all for what? By God! the Paphian?
Or she of Venice? (sees Smarda). Now slave! Scythian!
Why do you linger?
Smarda. I am bidden – (snarls) by
My mistress.
Hassan. Spa! Thy mistress hath, I think,
Something of hell in her and has unpacked
A portion in this castle. Is it so?
Smarda. My lady is of Venice.
Hassan. Strike her, God.
Her smirk admits it.
Smarda. Touch me not!
Hassan. I'll wring
Your tongue out sudden, if it now has lies.
What of your lady and lord Renier?
Smarda. Off!
Renier enters behind, with Moro.
Hassan. Your lady and lord Renier, I say!
What do they purpose?
Smarda. Fool-born! look around.
Hassan. Not till —
Smarda. Lord Renier, help.
Hassan. What do you say?
[Turns, and stares amazed.
A fool I am …
Renier. Where is my wife?
Hassan. Why, she …
This slave stung me to pry.
Renier. Where is my wife?
Hassan. A moment since she left – the women with her.
She asked for your return.
Renier. And wherefore did?
Hassan. You jeer me.
Renier. Answer.
Hassan. Have you not been gone?
Renier. Not – overfar. Where is Yolanda? – Well?
No matter; find my chamber till I come.
Of my arrival, too, no word to any.
[Hassan goes, confused.
You, Moro, have deferred me; now, I move.
Whether it is suspicion eats in me,
Mistrust and fret and doubt – of whom I say not,
Or whether desire, and unsubduable,
To see Amaury sceptred – I care not.
[To Smarda.
Slave, to your lady who awaits me, say
I'm here and now have chosen.
Moro. Do not!
Renier. Chosen.
[Smarda goes.
None can be great who will not hush his heart
To hold a sceptre, and Amaury must.
He is Lusignan and his lineage
Will drown in him Yolanda's loveliness.
Moro. It will not.
Renier. Then at least I shall uncover
What this Venetian hints.
Moro. Sir?
Renier. I must know.
Moro. 'Tis of your wife? – Yolanda?
Renier. Name them not.
They've shut me from their souls.
Moro. My lord, not so;
But you repulse them.
Renier. When they pity. No,
Something has gone from me or never was
Within my breast. I love not – am unlovable.
Amaury is not so.
And this Venetian Vittia Pisani —
Moro. Distrust her!
Renier. She has power.
Moro. But not truth.
And yesterday a holy relic scorned.
Renier. She loves Amaury. Wed to her he will
Be the elected Governor of Cyprus.
The throne, then, but a step.
Moro. But all too great.
And think; Yolanda is to him as heaven:
He will not yield her.
Renier. Then he must. And she,
The Venetian, has ways to it – a secret
To wrench her from his arms.
Moro. Sir, sir? – of what?
Renier. I know not, of some shame.
Moro. Shame!
Renier. Why do you clutch me?
Moro. I – am a priest – and shame —
Renier.
