Moro. No.
(A pause.)
Does she not see lightnings now in Amaury,
Plunging for truth? What is't?
Alessa. The acolytes
Are waiting.
Moro. Go ... But if this hour bring forth
What you shall rue——
Alessa. Father!
(Goes quickly, troubled.)
Moro. In blindness still!
For Vittia Pisani, who alone
Seems with these twain to share this mystery
Is silent to all importunity.
Oh, Berengere Lusignan!
But 'tis mine
To pray and to prepare. (Listens.) The acolytes.
(Two enter, sleek, sanctimonious.)