Maronis.
It is true. If it were not for the bandage that you, Valentinus, make her wear she would weep so immoderately that she would be turned into a river, like to Ilia, the mother of Romulus and Remus!
Tertulla.
[Explaining.] Always, ever since I was a child, in the days that cut the month of February in twain my father has taken me with him to the country, journeying thither to give directions for the spring work at his farm. But this year, business detaining him in town, he has sent for his overseer to come here to him, instead, and so ... Eheu!
Valentinus.
But the year is young. Barely have the heavens ceased to scatter snow on the Albanian hills. As yet the relaxing earth suffers only the hardiest of her green children to put their noses out of bed! Later you will all go to your father’s villa, avoiding the scorching heat of dog-star days!
Tertulla.
Ah, then it will not be the same! Then will it be too late.
Valentinus.
[Puzzled.] Too late?