Woman
He is no Venetian. By his liveries he must be a Prince at least, and a great one. Your dress, Signora! (Arranges it.) He’s come to buy the Signor’s pictures! Your fortune’s made. Oh, happy day! I will open the gate for him, so he will not know you have no servant.
[Exit.
Paulo
(Grim.) I do not understand. (Makes to fasten door, hesitates, then turns to Lucia.) You can explain this to me—Little Child—perhaps?
Lucia
Paulo, Paulo, do not be angry. Oh, forgive me, I implore. For your dear sake—for your work, your art—for you, I did it. It is not me he comes to see. It is your work, your picture. I went this very day—but an hour ago—to make him come. Oh, tell me, tell me I have not done wrong!
(Old Woman opens door. Enter Medici.)
Paulo
(Aghast.) Damiano di Medici! Here!