Elisabetta discovered seated on stool in window darning. The Count with Falcon on his hand comes down through the door at back. A withered wreath on the wall.
Elisabetta.
So, my lord, the Lady Giovanna, who hath been away so long, came back last night with her son to the castle.
Count.
Hear that, my bird! Art thou not jealous of her?
My princess of the cloud, my plumed purveyor,
My far-eyed queen of the winds—thou that canst soar
Beyond the morning lark, and howsoe’er
Thy quarry wind and wheel, swoop down upon him
Eagle-like, lightning-like—strike, make his feathers