On this tribunal; Raimond, which is he?
Raim. My father! who hath lull’d thy gentle heart
With that false hope? Beloved! gaze around—
See if thine eye can trace a father’s soul
In the dark looks bent on us.
[Constance, after earnestly examining the countenances of the Judges, falls at the feet of Procida.
Con. Thou art he!
Nay, turn thou not away! for I beheld
Thy proud lip quiver, and a watery mist
Pass o’er thy troubled eye; and then I knew