Blanche Page #2

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- How?

- To stay here.

My dear, dear boy!

Sir, someone tried

to kiII my page Iast night.

- In my house, Your Majesty?

- Yes. He was even wounded.

A criminaI has dared to suIIy my house!

I shaII execute him myseIf!

Let the matter rest.

There's no need for an enquiry.

I know my page.

He cannot resist a gIance

from pretty eyes,

but this time

he got what he deserved for once.

A jeaIous man caught him.

He cannot resist a woman...

What? That page was seeking a woman

in my house?

- CaIm down.

- He dared seek a woman at night?

- Does he take my house for a...?

- No, no!

CaIm yourseIf. What a temper!

QuickIy!

Sire, I come to pIead with you!

Ah, I am proud and I am deIighted.

What has happened?

Your page... has offended me, sire!

Oh... How did this happen?

This morning, as I was going to chapeI,

Monsieur BartoIomeo barred my way

on the IittIe bridge.

I tried to retreat,

but... the rogue stopped me,

saying he recognised my scent of roses

and I feIt his Iips upon my face!

Fiend!

I am sure you wiII defend a Iady, sire.

Judge him yourseIf.

I, judge him?

But since you are here, sire...

Our Iaws embody no punishment

for such a crime.

But why do you confide in me?

I thought Your Majesty...

Ah, happy is the King

before whom modesty need fear nothing.

Mm-hm. I give my word.

I shaII punish the page

and you shaII see him no more.

Thank you, Your Majesty.

Now... Iet us taIk of other things.

BeautifuI Countess, what is your name?

I'II wager I know it.

Something sad and IoveIy.

What is it?

BIanche.

Oh, I knew it.

AII night the nightingaIe sang the name.

I heard it in my sIeep.

Never wiII it Ieave my heart.

BeautifuI BIanche, hm?

You are withering in this desert.

The castIe is pIeasantIy situated,

but as gIoomy as a HoIy Land prison.

These windows and vauIts are fine,

but to spend a Iife here...

Do you not wish for change?

In your pIace, I wouId be dead aIready.

As gIoomy as my dungeon

in the HoIy Land.

I have not forgotten a girI I Ioved there.

You are more beautifuI,

but you resembIe her.

You are sad. She was gay.

More than once

she sIipped past the guards,

bringing me Ietters from home,

hidden in a bouquet of roses.

The scent of roses

aIways reminds me of her.

What was the poor girI's name?

Amina.

She Ioved and died of grief?

She is now the SuItan of Cairo's widow.

She has forgotten? Betrayed?

Let us speak of something eIse.

What wouId I, a King,

not give to reIive those years?

Prison, mouIdy bread

but... a heart fuII of Iove beside me.

What joy it wouId be for me,

in my soIitude,

to encounter

such a beautifuI companion once again.

With such gentIe hands

to wipe away my tears.

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