Amaury (up again). To the relentless!
Moro. God hear you not!
Amaury. Then is He not my God.
Moro. Enough, enough. (To the rest.) But go and for her soul
Freight all of you this tide of night with prayer.
Amaury. Never!
Moro. I bid.
Amaury. And I forbid those who
Have prized her not!
For though nought's in the world but prayer may move,
Still but the lips that loved her
Should for her any sin beseeching lift.
[Looking at Yolanda.
They and no other!
Yolanda. It is well.