LA HIRE.
What ails thee, maiden? She grows pale—she sinks!

[JOHANNA grows dizzy, and is about to fall.

DUNOIS.
She's wounded—rend her breastplate—'tis her arm!
The wound is not severe.

LA HIRE.
Her blood doth flow.

JOHANNA.
Oh, that my life would stream forth with my blood!

[She lies senseless in LA HIRE'S arms.

ACT IV.

A hall adorned as for a festival; the columns are hung with garlands; behind the scene flutes and hautboys.