A MASK. We are accustomed to spend it in action.
FIESCO. A manly answer—such as bespeaks Verrina.
VERRINA (unmasking). Fiesco is quicker to discover his friends beneath their masks than they to discover him beneath his.
FIESCO. I understand you not. But what means that crape of mourning around your arm? Can death have robbed Verrina of a friend, and Fiesco not know the loss?
VERRINA. Mournful tales ill suit Fiesco's joyful feasts.
FIESCO. But if a friend—(pressing his hand warmly.) Friend of my soul!
For whom must we both mourn?
VRRRINA. Both! both! Oh, 'tis but too true we both should mourn—yet not all sons lament their mother.
FIESCO. 'Tis long since your mother was mingled with the dust.
VERRINA (with an earnest look). I do remember me that Fiesco once called me brother, because we both were sons of the same country!
FIESCO (jocosely). Oh, is it only that? You meant then but to jest? The mourning dress is worn for Genoa! True, she lies indeed in her last agonies. The thought is new and singular. Our cousin begins to be a wit.