Manuel.

Thank God. And doth she know?

Ros. Ay, thou shalt hear. ’Twas Margaret’s doing: all night long she sat By Constance’ bed, and there with gentlest presence And soft accustomed voice most gradually She soothed and won the wandering spirit back. But, oh, the sweetest skill!—she, as she saw Constance take note of her, made no discovery, But spoke of thee and all things else, as if There never had been change: and that so well, That Constance, who lay gazing on the wall, And questioning of her error, whence it grew, Soon laid it on herself, and by and by Told Margaret of her dream, and asked how long She had lain so sick in bed; nor ever learned How real had her woe been, till she knew That all was over.

Man. I thank God,—and thee, Rosso, thee too. Margaret has had some cause To blame herself,—to have helped in the repair Will ease her heart of much. May I see Constance?

Ros. At once. But come prepared to find her weak.

Enter Philip.