Hassan. Perhaps—with reason.
(She looks at him quickly—he flushes.)
With reason!... knowing, lady, what, here, now,
Is rumoured of a baron
And lady Yolanda!... Pardon!
Yolanda (slowly). Of a baron
And lady Yolanda.
Hassan. Yes: it is the women
Who with their ears ever at secresy
Rumour it. But, lady, it is a lie?
This Camarin, this prinker,
Whose purse is daily loose to us.... I curse him!
His father.... Well, my mother's ten years dead
And flower lips breathe innocent above her.
But I'll avenge her shame.
Yolanda. On—him?
Hassan. On him!
And—you, who do not hush this tale of you,
Though it is truthless—hear:
I have a stab for Camarin of Paphos
Whenever he has lived—but say!—too long.
Yolanda (who has listened rigidly. After a pause).
Come here ... look in my eyes, and—deeper.... Shame!
(He is quelled.)