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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. You show suspicions.

      [Vittia enters unnoted.

      Of whom? – Of whom, and what?

      Vittia (lightly). My lord, of women.

      [Renier starts and turns.

      So does the Holy Church instil him.

      Renier. You

      Come softly, lady of Venice.

      Vittia. Streets of sea

      In Venice teach us.

      Renier. Of what women, then?

      My wife? Yolanda?

      Vittia. By the freedom due us,

      What matters it? In Venice our lords know

      That beauty has no master.

      Renier. Has no… That,

      That too has something hid.

      Vittia. Suspicious lord!

      Yet Berengere Lusignan is his wife!

      And soon Yolanda – But for that I'm here.

      You sent for me.

      Renier (sullen). I sent.

      Vittia. To say you've chosen?

      And offer me irrevocable aid

      To win Amaury?

      Renier. All is vain in me

      Before the fever for it.

      Vittia. Then, I shall.

      It must be done. My want is unafraid.

      Hourly I am expecting out of Venice

      Letters of power.

      And what to you I pledge is he shall be

      Ruler of Cyprus and these Mediterranean

      Blue seas that rock ever against its coast.

      That do I pledge … but more.

      Renier. Of rule?.. Then what?

      Vittia (going up to him). Of shame withheld – dishonor unrevealed.

      [As he recoils.

      Hush! there are steps.

      [The slave re-enters.

      Smarda?

      Smarda (quickly). My lady!

      Vittia. Speak.

      Smarda. I've erred; she's not asleep.

      Vittia. Who? – Ah! Yolanda?

      Smarda. Yes; she is coming!

      Renier. Ha!

      Vittia. My lord – !

      Renier. I'll stay,

      Stay and confront her.

      Vittia. Ignorantly? No.

      Renier. I'll question her.

      Vittia. Blindly, and peril all?

      Renier. I will return. You put me off, and off.

      [By the loggia, with Moro, he goes; the slave slips out. Yolanda enters, sadly, her gaze on the floor. She walks slowly, but becoming conscious starts, sees Vittia, and turns to withdraw.

      Vittia. Your pardon —

      Yolanda. I can serve you?

      Vittia. If you seek

      The women, they are gone.

      Yolanda. I do not seek them.

      Vittia. Nor me?

      Yolanda. Nor any. – Yet I would I might

      With seeking penetrate the labyrinth

      Of your intent.

      Vittia. I thank you. And you shall,

      To-night – if you have love.

      Yolanda. That thread were vain.

      Vittia. I say, if you have love.

      Yolanda. Of guile?

      Vittia. Of her

      You hold as mother, and who is Amaury's.

      Yolanda. Were it so simple, all designs that ever

      Laired in you, would to my eyes have been as clear

      As shallows under Morpha's crystal wave.

      Vittia. Unproven you speak so.

      Yolanda. And proven would.

      Vittia. If so, then – save her.

      Yolanda. Who? What do you – ? (stops).

      Vittia (with irony). Mean?

      It is not clear?

      Yolanda. Save her?

      Vittia. The surety flies

      Out

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