Gaze—read it thus!
[He lifts the visor of his helmet.
Mon. Raimond di Procida!
Raim. Thou hast pursued me with a bitter hate:
But fare thee well! Heaven’s peace be with thy soul!
I must away. One glorious effort more,
And this proud field is won.
[Exit Raimond.
Mon. Am I thus humbled?
How my heart sinks within me! But ’tis Death