VII
[The same scene, but no one present. A butterfly flits across from the left, makes several pirouettes and exit to the right. Hera enters quickly from the left.]
Hera.
Could I be mistaken? What is this overpowering perfume? Is it conceivable that in this new world odours take corporeal shape? Anything is conceivable, except that I was mistaken in thinking that I saw it fly across this meadow. It can only have been beckoning me. [The butterfly re-enters from the right, and, after towering upwards, and wheeling in every direction, settles on a cluster of meadow-sweet. It is followed from the right
by Eros. He and Hera look at one another in silence.]
Hera.
You are occupied, Eros. I will not detain you.
Eros.
I propose to stay here for a little while. Are you moving on? [Each of them fixes eyes on the insect.]