MARIA.
Nay, signor, frankly, he esteems your talent.
Because you are of well-assured means
And gentle birth, he will be rude to you.
Not without base is the deep grudge he owes
To riches and prosperity.
LORENZO.
Signora,
Why do I bear such harsh, injurious terms
As he affronts me with? Why must I seem
In mine own eyes a craven? Spiritless,
Dishonorably patient? 'T is not his fame,
His power, his gift, his venerable years
That bind me here his willing slave. Maria,
'T is thou, 't is thou alone! 'T is that I love thee,
And exile hence is death!
[A pause. He kneels at her feet. She looks at him kindly but
makes no reply.]
At thy dear feet
I lay my life with its most loyal service,
The subject of thy pleasure.
MARIA (tenderly).
You are too humble.
LORENZO.
Too humble! Do you seek mine utter ruin,
With words whose very tone is a caress?
I say all. I love you!—you have known it.
Why should I tell you? Yet, to-day you seem
Other than you have been. A milder light
Beams from your eyes—a gentler grace is throned
Upon your brow—your words fall soft as dew
To melt my fixed resolve.
MARIA.
You find me, signor,
In an unguarded mood. I would be true
To you; and to myself; yet, know no answer.
Anon, I will be calm; pray you withdraw.
LORENZO.
Till when? Remember what mad hopes and fears
Meantime will riot in my brain.
MARIA.
To-morrow—
Farewell, farewell.
LORENZO (kisses her hand).
Farewell.
[Exit.]
MARIA.
A faithful heart,
A name untainted, a fair home—yea, these
Are what I need. Oh, lily soul in heaven,
Who wast on earth my mother, guide thy child!
While MARIA sits rapt in thought, enter from behind her, ANNICCA,
who bends over her and kisses her brow.
ANNICCA.
What, sister! lost in dreams by daylight? Fie!
Who is the monarch of thy thoughts?