SOREL.
My king, beloved!
[looking round with an anxious, inquiring gaze.
Dunois! Say, is it true,
Duchatel?

DUCHATEL.
'Tis, alas!

SOREL.
So great the need?
No treasure left? The soldiers will disband?

DUCHATEL.
Alas! It is too true!

SOREL (giving him the casket).
Here-here is gold,
Here too are jewels! Melt my silver down!
Sell, pledge my castles--on my fair domains
In Provence--treasure raise, turn all to gold,
Appease the troops! No time to be lost!

[She urges him to depart.

CHARLES.
Well now, Dunois! Duchatel! Do ye still
Account me poor, when I possess the crown
Of womankind? She's nobly born as I;