And now permit me to depart if I am free to go,
For I cannot endure the glance of yonder basilisk!
Tête-d'or: Do you think to astonish me, young girl, do you think that I am afraid of you?
Behold this hand, behold me, young girl, it is I who killed your father!
I offered him as a fitting sacrifice
And his blood spurted upon me, and he tumbled at my feet, writhing in the agony of death.
For I saved this land with my sword, and turning upon its incapable master,
I put him to death as was just, and the punishment meted out did not exceed the crime.
The Princess: Father! Father!
Tête-d'or: Cry! Call him!