The Emperor.
Why so silent, Eusebia?
The Empress.
[Softly, in tears.] Oh, Constantius—how could you make such a choice!
The Emperor.
Eleven ghosts demanded it.
The Empress.
Woe upon us; this will not appease the ghosts.
The Emperor.
[Calls loudly.] Flute-players! Why are the rascals silent? Play, play!