Vittia. Again unshameful? No; one thing
Alone would serve you. That I must not bring
My tongue to falter.
Amaury. Be it so.
Vittia. And yet ...
(He has turned away.)
My lord, my lord, I will!
Will ... for you suffer!
Will, though indelicacy seem to soil
What bloom I boasted.
Let her think ... let her,
But for to-day,
That you, for she's aware of my affection,
Have chosen—to wed me.
Amaury. You!
Vittia. For to-day.
To-morrow I return to Venice, then—
Denial.
Amaury (moved). Lady—?
Vittia. Yes.
Amaury. This is most kind.