Can you deny the word? Your colour alters,
The heart that knocks your breast is plain to hear.
Gyges.
Your lord—has he not, too, before you trembled?
Has not his colour, even as mine, been altered?
Has not his heart been stirred like mine and knocked?
Recall the moment of the great permission,
The first time that he dared behold your face,
Then ask—did he not all resemble me?
Rhod.