Helena. Wings?
Paris [ecstatically]. Venus, mother of Love!
Helena [alarmed]. What is it?
Paris. She has sent her messenger. I hear the patter of little feet.
Helena. Those little feet are the soldiers below in the courtyard.
[A trumpet sounds.]
Paris [the truth of the situation breaking through his emotion]. In a moment I shall be killed.
Helena. Killed?
Paris. Save me and save yourself!
Helena. Myself?