My lady! O my lady!... the child! the child!
Porzia (swaying).
What is it? Speak!
Marina.
My lady, it is dead!
[A wild pause.
Porzia.
Dead? dead? my child? my little one? my own?
My baby?... Oh; oh, oh!... oh, oh, oh, oh!
[She stretches her arms distractedly before her and goes.