O yes, beloved by Gwymplane.
Duchess
It seems to me, child, that upon this somewhat fantastic night we have perhaps changed partners.
Dea
Madame?
[Gwymplane stands rigidly silent. The Duchess plucks a flower from a vase, throwing the petals over Dea's head in a gesture half gay, half brutal.]
Duchess
At last the whimsy of my soul is outmatched by the turn of events.
Dea
I hang upon your words, Madame, yet I do not understand them.