CARLOMAN.
Why should you look so fearful? I have chosen
The path of life, choosing to be a monk,
And I have wisely chosen.
BONIFACE.
Ah, beloved!
CARLOMAN.
Now I must face my brother. Would he come
By chance! I dare not crave a conference.
I am arrested at the lips if ever
We speak of anything beyond affairs.
He will not understand—at least to-day,
When fresh from the procession of that cursed
Do-nothing Chilperic.
BONIFACE.
Set your purpose forth
At once, and let him freely misconceive:
You must not cloud for that.
CARLOMAN.
These mighty thoughts,
Mingled with God, how put them to the shame
Of the world’s censure! What you call my soul
Flees as a shy girl that escapes pursuit.