Camarin. To the abyss with it. To-night
Is ours—Renier tarries at Famagouste—
Is ours for love and for a long delight!
Berengere. Whose end may be—
Camarin. Dawn and the dewy lark!
And passing of all presage from you.
Berengere (sits). No:
For think, Yolanda's look when by the cypress
We read the verses! And my dream that I
Should with a cross—inscrutable is sleep!—
Bring her deep bitterness.
Camarin. Dreams are a brood
Born of the night and not of destiny.
She guesses not our guilt, and Renier
Clasps to his breast ambition as a bride—
Ambition for Amaury.
Berengere. None can say.
He's much with this Venetian, our guest,
Though Venice gyves us more with tyranny
Than would the Saracen.
Camarin. But through this lady
Of the Pisani, powerful in Venice,
He hopes to lift again his dynasty
Up from decay; and to restore this island,
This verdure-dream of the seas, unto his house.
'Tis clear, my Berengere!
Berengere. Then, her design?
And, the requital that entices her?
[Rises.
Evil will come of it, to us some evil,
Or to Yolanda and Amaury's love.—
But, there; the women.