AGAPE. Amen.
CHIONIA. There is more noise! It sounds like the clashing of pots and pans and fire-irons.
IRENA. I will go and look. Come quick and peep through the crack of the door!
AGAPE. What is it?
IRENA. Oh, look! He must be out of his senses! I believe he thinks that he is kissing us.
AGAPE. What is he doing?
IRENA. Now he presses the saucepans tenderly to his breast, now the kettles and frying-pans! He is kissing them hard!
CHIONIA. How absurd!
IRENA. His face, his hands, his clothes! They are all as black as soot. He looks like an Ethiope.
AGAPE. I am glad. His body should turn black—to match his soul, which is possessed of a devil.