Vittia. What! how?
Yolanda. Plentiful scorn! (With joy.) A thing may still
Be done to lift my hope out of this ruin!
To bring Amaury grateful to my feet!
And I will do it.
Vittia. Tell?... vowing him first
To win his father's lenience?... No ... I see!
You would when she who's guilty
And this enamoured Paphian are fled!
(Yolanda turns pale.)
When they are fled! ha ... And it is too late.
Yolanda. Too—? You by some trick—a trick have—!
Vittia. Hindered? Little
I needed ... Her wings are flightless. She is ill,
Verging—go learn!—to death.
Yolanda. No!
Vittia. To the grave.
And you alone, she knows, can put it far—
Since she is numbed and drained
Momently by the terror of her husband,
Whose every pulse seems to her a suspicion.
Yolanda. And it is you ... you who have urged again
His doubt that would have sunk!