Enter Laura.
laura.
How this little tyrant rules it over me! Again—[Takes a letter from her bosom]—I can repeat the words backwards, tell every turn of a letter, count the dots, blurs, and crossings; but—[In attempting to replace the billet, it drops on the floor unperceived]—I think the sun creeps backward, and then returns, out of sheer spite and maliciousness. I must not be on the terrace too soon: I'll have him wait now; it looks more an it were as if I had other business by the nose than dancing to the pipe of a gay gallant. Three full hours yet. Alack, alack! I can neither scold the maids, darn the Venice lace, sort my brother's hose, nor even turn up the plaitings of my own hair. I'll bethink me of the gown I must wear that shall best please my cavalier, and lay it down, to smooth out the folds. Oh, sweet heart! how tender he looked on me at the Prado to-day. Yes,—the same,—I gave him an encouraging glance betimes, lest the youth should wax timorous and melancholy. I hope we may have a quiet night: the sky looks somewhat wild and turbid. [Exit.
Enter Hermione.
hermione.
How fierce the sun gazes from below that bank of clouds he has just quitted, as if he threatened us at his going with some terrible disaster. His beam wraps the city, as with a mantle of fire bespangled with stars,—here and there a glittering cross studding its purple vestment: one by one they are quenched, and the glowing mantle itself fades. A dark dun haze rests upon the city, and in the west a fiery streak alone tells of the past. I fear me the night forebodes a storm.——Carlos, I find, follows me to Mantua. How the moody wretch and his companion dogged us at the Prado to-day: I doubled more than a hare at its lasts shifts, to keep out of their ken. I had hoped he would have forgotten me ere this; but you may not cram wisdom even down a mallard's throat.—
Enter Sylvio.
Whose message bring you here?
sylvio.
My Lord Duke sends greeting.
hermione.
Thanks, boy, for his intent. I lack not pleasant compliments.
sylvio.
He hopes, lady, the air of our public walk suits well your delicate health, and that your spirits droop not in this gay city.
hermione.
Tell my Lord Duke, when he next goes with the crowd, to veil the dark fringe of his eye, and to fashion the bend of his nose afresh; or the fire of his eye, and his lordly beak, will betray to every idle flutterer the presence of the proud Duke of Mantua. Good b'ye, Sylvio. [Exit.