Mauria. Ah!
And comes he here?
Halil. As he were lord of skies!
To lady Yolanda, by my lute!
Maga. Where is she?
Alessa. I do not know; perhaps, her chamber.
Mauria. Stay:
His word may be of the Saracens.
Halil (calling). Oho!
[He admits Olympio, who enters insolently down. All press round him gaily.
Mauria. Well, what, Olympio, from Famagouste?
What tidings? tell us.
Olympio. Stand off.