She nodded regally.
“And do you think, Baron Scarpia, that I would contract so hideous a payment with you?”
De Medici, in search of his lines for a moment, hesitated and then cried out:
“How you detest me!”
The Tosca facing him laughed.
“I do,” she answered, “with my soul and body I loathe you.”
“Ah, ’tis thus I love you most,” he spoke.
Dr. Lytton, eyeing the incredible make-believe for a moment, had become busy. The drift of the strange scene had penetrated his thought. His hands had cleared the table and arranged the plates and bottles brought from the kitchen. Carefully he laid the knife on the edge nearest the woman. De Medici, seizing the swing of the lines he had evidently once known, fired the antiquated Sardou speech at the woman, remembering and improvising as he went.
“Spolletta, pay attention.” He was addressing imaginary actors. “I have changed my mind. The lovely Floria and I have made a bargain. Let Cavaradossi be shot. Here is the order.”
Turning to the table he scribbled with a pencil on a piece of paper.