MASK. Then condescend to walk into the fields with me.
FIESCO. It wants but ten minutes of midnight.
MASK. Walk with me, Count, I pray.
FIESCO. I will order my carriage.
MASK. That is useless—I shall send one horse: we want no more, for only one of us, I hope, will return.
FIESCO (with surprise). What say you?
MASK. A bloody answer will be demanded of you, touching a certain tear.
FIESCO. What tear?
MASK. A tear shed by the Countess of Lavagna. I am acquainted with that lady, and demand to know how she has merited to be sacrificed to a worthless woman?
FIESCO. I understand you now; but let me ask who 'tis that offers so strange a challenge?