Osio, haunted and desperate, stands without the bower, watching Matteo who is stealthily coming down from the pedestal of the Virgin where he has climbed to listen, and who crosses the terrace to him.
Osio.
Her words! give me her words—and them alone!
What were they?
Matteo.
I could learn no more, Signor.
The fever is tossing her.
Osio.
To peril of death?
She is sinking now down into ceaseless Hell,