A present from a husband to a wife!
She takes it up in her hands.
A lady's mirror! What was it that he said? "Look long and well into this mirror, and profit by what you see," My mirror from the Catacombs!
She sinks into a chair, holding it between her hands as it rests on the table. Her tone is trance-like.
I look. I see the end of all things. I see that nothing matters. Is that your message? Why do you grin at me? You laugh to think that my face is like your face—or will be soon—in a few years-tomorrow. You mock at me for thinking I am alive. I am dead, you say. Dead, like you. Am I?
She rises.
No. Not yet. For a moment—a little lifetime—I have life, I Have lips and eyelids made for kisses. I have hands that burn to give caresses, and breasts that ache to take them. I have a body made to suffer the deep stings of love. This flesh of mine shall be a golden web woven of pain and joy.
She takes up the skull again.
You were alive once, and a virgin-martyr? You denied yourself love? You sent away your lover? No wonder you speak so plainly to me now. Back, girl, to your coffin!
She puts the skull in the box, and closes the lid softly. She turns to the door and waits. At last he enters.