ALBERTO (_drying his eyes and rubbing his head, like a cat, avid of caresses, against her hand_). How can I thank you enough, Lucrezia? You are like a mother to me.

LUCREZIA. I know. That's just what's so dangerous.

ALBERTO (_lets his head fall upon her bosom_). I come to you for comfort, like a tired child, Lucrezia.

LUCREZIA. Poor darling! (_She strokes his hair, twines its thick black tendrils round her fingers_, ALBERTO _is abjectly pathetic_.)

ALBERTO (_with closed eyes and a seraphic smile_). Ah, the suavity, the beauty of this maternal instinct!

LUCREZIA (_with a sudden access of energy and pa.s.sion_). The disgustingness of it, you mean. (_She pushes him from her. His head wobbles once, as though it were inanimate, before he straightens into life_.) The maternal instinct. Ugh. It's been the undoing of too many women. You men come with your sentimental babyishness and exploit it for your own l.u.s.ts. Be a man, Bertino. Be a woman, I mean, if you can.

ALBERTO (_looking up at her with eyes full of doglike, dumb reproach_).

Lucrezia! You, too? Is there n.o.body who cares for me? This is the unkindest cut of all. I may as well die. (_He relapses into tears_.)

LUCREZIA (_who has started to go, turns back, irresolute_). Now, don't cry, Bertino. Can't you behave like a reasonable being? (_She makes as though to go again_.)

ALBERTO (_through his sobs_). You too, Lucrezia! Oh, I can't bear it, I can't bear it.

LUCREZIA (_turning back desperately_). But what do you want me to do?

Why should you expect _me_ to hold your hand?

ALBERTO. I thought better of you, Lucrezia. Let me go. There is nothing left for me now but death. (_He rises to his feet, takes a step or two, and then collapses into another chair, unable to move_.)

LUCREZIA (_torn between anger and remorse_). Now do behave yourself sensibly, Bertino. There, there ... you mustn't cry. I'm sorry if I've hurt you. (_Looking towards the left along the path taken by_ AMY _and_ DOLPHIN.) Oh, d.a.m.nation! (_She stamps her foot_.) Here, Bertino, do pull yourself together. (_She raises him up_.) There, now you must stop crying. (_But as soon as she lets go of him his head falls back on to the iron table with an unpleasant, meaty b.u.mp. That b.u.mp is too much for_ LUCREZIA. _She bends over him, strokes his head, even kisses the l.u.s.trous curls_.) Oh, forgive me, forgive me! I have been a beast. But, tell me first, what's the matter, Bertino? What is it, my poor darling?

Tell me.

ALBERTO. n.o.body loves me.

LUCREZIA. But we're all devoted to you, Bertino mio.

ALBERTO. She isn't. To-day she shut the door in my face.

LUCREZIA. She? You mean the French-woman, the one you told me about?

Louise, wasn't she?

ALBERTO. Yes, the one with the golden hair.

LUCREZIA. And the white legs. I remember: you saw her bathing.

ALBERTO (_lays his hand on his heart_). Ah, don't remind me of it. (_His face twitches convulsively_.)

LUCREZIA. And now she's gone and shut the door in your face.

ALBERTO. In my face, Lucrezia.

LUCREZIA. Poor darling!

ALBERTO. For me there is nothing now but the outer darkness.

LUCREZIA. Is the door shut forever, then?

ALBERTO. Definitively, for ever.

LUCREZIA. But have you tried knocking? Perhaps, after all, it might be opened again, if only a crack.

ALBERTO. What, bruise my hands against the granite of her heart?

LUCREZIA. Don't be too poetical, Bertino mio. Why not try again, in any case?

ALBERTO. You give me courage.

LUCREZIA. There's no harm in trying, you know.

ALBERTO. Courage to live, to conquer. (_He beats his breast_.) I am a man again, thanks to you, Lucrezia, my inspirer, my Muse, my Egeria. How can I be sufficiently grateful. (_He kisses her_.) I am the child of your spirit. (_He kisses her again_.)

LUCREZIA. Enough, enough. I am not ambitious to be a mother, yet awhile.

Quickly now, Bertino, I know you will succeed.

ALBERTO (_cramming his hat down on his head and knocking with his walking-stick on the ground_). Succeed or die, Lucrezia. (_He goes out with a loud martial stamp_.)

LUCREZIA (_to the waiter who is pa.s.sing across the stage with a coffee-pot and cups on a tray_). Have you seen the Signorina Toomis, Giuseppe?

WAITER. The Signorina is down in the garden. So is the Signore Dolphin.

By the fountain, Signorina. This is the Signore's coffee.

LUCREZIA. Have you a mother, Giuseppe?

WAITER. Unfortunately, Signorina.

LUCREZIA. Unfortunately? Does she treat you badly, then?

WAITER. Like a dog, Signorina.

LUCREZIA. Ah, I should like to see your mother. I should like to ask her to give me some hints on how to bring up children.

WAITER. But surely, Signorina, you are not expecting, you--ah....

LUCREZIA. Only figuratively, Giuseppe. My children are spiritual children.

WAITER. Precisely, precisely. My mother, alas! is not a spiritual relation. Nor is my fiancee.

LUCREZIA. I didn't know you were engaged.

WAITER. To an angel of perdition. Believe me, Signorina, I go to my destruction in that woman--go with open eyes. There is no escape. She is what is called in the Holy Bible (_crosses himself_) a Fisher of Men.

LUCREZIA. You have remarkable connections, Giuseppe.

WAITER. I am honoured by your words, Signorina. But the coffee becomes cold. (_He hurries out to the left_.)