Renier. Insult?
She knows what I would bid and does she hurl
Her soul in any disavowal?
Amaury. I
Will speak to her alone. Go all of you
There to the fountain.
Yolanda. Yes, Amaury, then
One searching of my face shall free your fear.
Alone, alone.
Renier. Still to befool him!
Yolanda (warningly). Choose!
I cannot suffer more of this.
Amaury. Nor I
To breathe ever the burning of this mist
Of anguish and insatiate accusal.—
This wound upon my throat, fever it not
With longer fire of doubt, Yolanda.
Yolanda. Ah!
Berengere. I am not well. I will go to my chamber.
(She passes into the castle.)
Renier. But I never until this guiler grants
I found her in the arms of Camarin,
Drinking the frenzied wine of passion he
Poured from his soul.