I shall carry your train, my Queen. Forgive me. Give me back the image of my beautiful, piteous goddess.
Consuelo
[Quieting down]: You're playing again?
He
I am.
Consuelo
[Laughing]: You see! [Sits down.] Foolish He.
He
I see everything, my Queen. I see how beautiful you are, and how low under your feet your poor court fool is lying. Somewhere in the abyss his little bells are ringing. He kneels before you and prays; forgive and pity him, my divine one. He was too impudent; he played so cheerfully that he went too far and lost his tiny little mind, the last bit of understanding he had saved up. Forgive me!
Consuelo