Bramante squeaks like a mouse; hops like a sparrow.
Ding, dong! Rinaldo is beaten to his knee and the Soldan shortens his blade for a final thrust, but—Bramante rushes in, and with one terrific sweep of her sword shears his head so clean from his shoulders that it rolls to the footlights and puts out one of the candles.
Ha! ha! He trusted in his false god, Mahound!
Bramante hops violently.
Enter suddenly, rescued Christian Maid. Also in armour; also possessing piercing falsetto.
Saved! saved! She falls clattering upon Rinaldo’s breast, and Bramante, after an instant’s hesitation, falls there on top of her, with peculiarly vicious intensity.
More dinner napkin. More frenzied applause. Gaspero draws a long breath. His eyes are full of tears of feeling.
Scene in the wood again. Charlemagne has thanked Rinaldo. Has thanked Bramante. Has blessed the Christian Maid, and has retired exhausted to his afternoon nap!
Christian Maid insists upon expressing her gratitude to the Paladin with her arms round his neck.
Bramante drags her off by her back hair, a dialogue ensuing which bears striking likeness to the interview of cats on a back fence.