Pyrrhus.
It is well, stranger. Tidings are good in peace; and if war comes, an exile for manslaying may well be worth the bread he eats.
Orestes.
Others know if I am skilled in war. I know only that my life is little worth to me, and I care not much to save it.
Pyrrhus.
A good word, Sir Guest, and worthy of the roof of Achilles. We give you greeting, my Queen and I. [Shakes his hand, and looks round for Hermione.] Daughter of Helen, have you not seen our guest?
Hermione.
[In a startled tone.] Seen him? What do you mean, my lord?
Orestes.
Nay, though methinks I have heard the Queen's praises till it is almost as though I knew her. For the women of the South speak daily of Helen's daughter, and the bards and kings' sons will never forget her.