Rai. Fear! As if man’s own spirit had not power
To make his death a triumph! Waste not words;
Let my blood bathe thine own sword. Infidel!
I slew thy son!
[Looking at his broken sword.
Ay, there’s the red mark here!
Mel. (approaching him.) Thou darest to tell me this!
[A tumult heard without.
Voices without. A Chatillon!
Rai. My brother’s voice! He is saved!