Hassan (low). Liar that I am to say it!
Yolanda. I cannot—cannot!
[Returns.
The Saracens we know were routed to
Their vessels—all the Allah-crying horde.
And lord Amaury—said the courier not?——
Rode in the battle as a seraph might
To the Holy Sepulchre's deliverance.
And yet no word from him.
Hassan. Perhaps—with reason.
[She looks at him quickly—he flushes.
With reason! ... knowing, lady, what, here, now,
Is rumoured of a baron
And lady Yolanda!... Pardon!
Yolanda (slowly). Of a baron
And lady Yolanda.
Hassan. Yes: it is the women
Who with their ears ever at secrecy
Rumour it. But, lady, it is a lie?
This Camarin, this prinker,
Whose purse is daily loose to us.... I curse him!
His father.... Well, my mother's ten years dead,
Stained, as you know—
And flower-lips breathe innocent above her.
But I'll avenge her doom.
Yolanda. On—whom?