(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?—unless because
Of the Paphian—or this Venetian.
(Seeing Smarda.) Now,
Slave! Scythian! You linger?
Smarda. I am bidden—
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
Thy tongue out sudden, if it now has lies.
What of thy lady and Lord Renier?
Smarda. Off!
(Renier enters behind, with Moro.)