Orso. Sir, you are desired.
Petrarca. By whom?
Orso. Her veil
Was lifted and she told me:
Therefore I say it out—Madonna Laura.
(All stare, amazed. Silence.)
Petrarca (hoarsely). What lie is this!
Orso. I am too old to lie.
Sancia (laughing). Who was the goddess that his books tell of,
The cold one so long chaste, but who at last——
Lello. Be silent, Sancia! Francesco ... what?
Petrarca (to Orso). Lead Monna Laura here—