CHARLES: Smirker!--Yet, was it so?
That night indeed?
CECCO: Sir, surely.
CHARLES: And the moon's
'Scutcheon hung stainless up the purple east?
CECCO: Half, sir; even as now.
CHARLES (_as to himself_): Since that hour's close
To this I have not stood in so much calm.
Still was he not in every vein of him,
And breath, a traitor? A Greek who--I'll not say it,
Since she is Greek I must forget the word
Sounds the diapason of perfidy.
CECCO: My lord thinks of the gentle Helena?
CHARLES: And if I do?