Dost know mine age, Peter? I am over sixty.
Pet. Your holiness forgets. The bishop would speak with you.
Hild. Forgive me bishop, aye, ’tis thou Brunelli,
What is thy business?
Brunelli. Your Holiness must pardon my intrusion
On this o’er sad occasion, important matters
Must be their own excuse. I will speak plainly;—
One by one your party leaves you, soon
You will be desolate. Our only chance is now.
Hild. Ha! now? And now!