Marco. Raphael!
Raph. We thought we were happy. (Laughing.) Vain delusion! we were breaking our hearts. (With a sudden alteration of tone and countenance conveying that the recollection of his home had suddenly come to his mind.) Yes, yes (with a tremulous voice), breaking our hearts; but we were not the only sufferers. No, no: there were other hearts breaking, others (in an agony of suppressed grief) I had forgotten. But my absence is desired, and some older friends claim my politeness. Adieu! (Going.)
Marco. You will call and see me sometimes in Paris?
Raph. (Gayly bowing with affected politeness.) You are very kind; but I fear I shall not often be able to profit by your politeness, for my work—you understand—it is necessary that I should repair the time I have lost; and besides, when I and the persons who reside with me have recovered our happiness, it would be indiscreet to revive recollections that might jeopardize it.
Marco. (Coldly.) Well, then, at least you’ll try? (Sits on sofa.)
Raph. (Suffocating with suppressed emotion.) Yes, yes: I will try. (Puts his hand hastily to his heart with an exclamation of acute pain.)
Marco. (Alarmed.) Raphael!
Raph. (After a violent effort to calm himself.) ’Tis nothing, ’tis nothing! (Staggering to go off, L.)
Marco. Are you going to Paris?