FRANCESCA. Ha! there's the van just breaking through the wood!
Music! that's well; a welcome forerunner.
Now, Ritta—here—come talk to me. Alas!
How my heart trembles! What a world to me
Lies 'neath the glitter of yon cavalcade!
Is that the Count?
RITTA. Upon the dapple-gray?
FRANCESCA. Yes, yes.
RITTA. No; that's his—
GUIDO. [Apart to her.] Ritta!
RITTA. Ay; that's—that's—
GUIDO. Ritta, the pot! [Apart to her.
RITTA. O! but this lying chokes! [Aside.]
Ay, that's Count Somebody, from Rimini.
FRANCESCA. I knew it was. Is that not glorious?
RITTA. My lady, what?