If she but win! a-ha! a curse on him!
[Whirls faster with a wild grace, swaying to and fro, and chanting softly the while, till suddenly a laugh in the corridor stops her, and Pietro is heard through the curtains adoring Civa, who pushes him into the Hall, then runs away laughing.
Pietro (after her). Hold, fair one! Stay! You look on Pietro
Of Venice! Pietro!
Smarda (to herself). A-ha ... ha-ha!
Pietro (turning). It is the slave! (Grandly.) I greet you, slave.
Smarda. Greeting!
Pietro. I, Pietro, who, as you know, am sought
By all the loveliest
Attending on the lords and high of Venice.
Smarda. So!... So!
Pietro. "The gentle Pietro," they say.
You may remember.
Smarda. So.