THE POET. See the light that surrounds them! Hear how the air is ringing with music!—Eros!
THE OFFICER. It is Victoria.
MASTER OF Q. Well, what of it?
THE OFFICER. It is his Victoria—My own is still mine. And nobody can see her—Now you hoist the quarantine flag, and I shall pull in the net.
[The MASTER OF QUARANTINE waves a yellow flag. THE OFFICER. [Pulling a rope that turns the boat toward Foulstrand] Hold on there!
HE and SHE become aware of the hideous view and give vent to their horror.
MASTER OF Q. Yes, it comes hard. But here every one must stop who hails from plague-stricken places.
THE POET. The idea of speaking in such manner, of acting in such a way, within the presence of two human beings united in love! Touch them not! Lay not hands on love! It is treason!—Woe to us! Everything beautiful must now be dragged down—dragged into the mud!
[HE and SHE step ashore, looking sad and shamefaced.
HE. Woe to us! What have we done?