Vittia (lightly). My lord, of women.
[Renier starts and turns.
So does the Holy Church instil him.
Renier. You
Come softly, lady of Venice.
Vittia. Streets of sea
In Venice teach us.
Renier. Of what women, then?
My wife? Yolanda?
Vittia. By the freedom due us,
What matters it? In Venice our lords know
That beauty has no master.
Renier. Has no.... That,
That too has something hid.
Vittia. Suspicious lord!
Yet Berengere Lusignan is his wife!
And soon Yolanda—But for that I'm here.
You sent for me.
Renier (sullen). I sent.