Vit. Yes, Eribert!—thy prophecies of joy
Have taught e’en me to smile.
Eri. ’Tis well. To-day
I have won a fair and almost royal bride;
To-morrow let the bright sun speed his course,
To waft me happiness!—my proudest foes
Must die; and then my slumber shall be laid
On rose-leaves, with no envious fold to mar
The luxury of its visions!—Fair Vittoria,
Your looks are troubled!