MENELAUS [with the conviction of finality]. There are only two sorts of women! Those who are failures and those who realize it.
ANALYTIKOS. Is not Penelope, the model wife of your cousin Ulysses, an exception?
MENELAUS. Duty is the refuge of the unbeautiful. She is as commonplace as she is ugly. [And then with deep bitterness.] Why didn't he marry Helen when we all wanted her? He was too wise for that. He is the only man I've ever known who seems able to direct destiny.
ANALYTIKOS. You should not blame the Gods for a lack of will.
MENELAUS [shouting]. Will! Heaven knows I do not lack the will to rid myself of this painted puppet, but where is the instrument ready to my hand?
[At this moment a SHEPHERD of Apollonian beauty leaps across the rail of the balcony and bounds into the room. MENELAUS and ANALYTIKOS start back in amazement.]
ANALYTIKOS. Who are you?
PARIS. An adventurer.
ANALYTIKOS. Then you have reached the end of your story. In a moment you will die.
PARIS. I have no faith in prophets.