Geraldine rushes in, followed by domestics.
Ger. Whence these cries? ah Heavens! what killing sight is this? uncle, uncle, speak to me, ’tis Geraldine that calls.
Enter Florian from the opposite side.
Flor. My patron! ha! convulsed! dying. Eternal Mercy spare his sacred life!
Ger. Nay, bend him forward, his eyes unclose again—he sees—he knows us.
The Count in silence draws a hand from Geraldine and Florian within his own, and presses them together to his heart.
Flor. How fares it, sir? bless us with your voice.
De Val. Ah! Ah! (he grasps the scroll and points to it emphatically, but cannot articulate.)
Flor. O! for a knowledge of your gracious pleasure, speak sir, pronounce one word.
De Val. (very faintly and with effort.) Longueville: ah fly, preserve—(again his accents fail him, he seems to collect all his remaining strength for one short effort, and a second time just articulates— Longueville! (he relapses into insensibility.)