HE. (reading) "My dear young friend: I am sending you a package, which I beg you, as a favour, to deliver to Donna Violante, my wife. It contains a gift of an unusual sort, which you as well as she will appreciate. As you know, it is the unusual which interests me—the unusual and the old. And yet, antiquarian though I am, I flatter myself that I understand the mind of a beautiful young woman, especially when that young woman is my wife. I have found her a mirror. Yes, a mirror! Under this name it seems commonplace enough, but when you have seen it I do not think you will say so. It is not the kind of mirror that is ordinarily found in a lady's boudoir. Yet it will give to her a faithful reflection of her loveliness as it is in truth. I found it— this will interest you—in the Catacombs. You would not think the early Christians had so much vanity! Yet it was a mirror into which the virgin-martyrs-to-be of the time of Nero looked each day. As they looked, let Donna Violante look. Say to her from me—'Look long and well into this mirror, and profit by what you see.'—Humbly your friend, Don Vincenzio." . . . Is not that a pleasant letter?
He restores the letter to his pocket.
SHE. There is something in it that makes me shiver…. Let us look.
She takes the paper from the box and is about to open it when he stops her.
HE. No. Not now. I want to talk to you.
SHE (lapsing into a hostile coldness) Yes.
HE. You know what I have to say. I have said it so often. I shall say it once more.
SHE. (appealingly) Luciano!
HE. No, let me speak. You are not happy. You do not love your husband.
And you are too young and beautiful to live without love.
SHE. Please!