Scene 2
[It is night upon the deck of a small schooner, whose sails are outlined against leaden streaks, commencing to herald the dawn.
Dea lies extended upon a low couch, beside the chair of Ursus. In the dim light her form possesses the eternal majesty of sculpture. From afar the voices of sailors chanting some sad litany of the sea. Ursus leans back in his chair, looking up into the face of departing night. Gwymplane paces in and out, anguished with unrest.]
Ursus [to Gwymplane, who hardly heeds him]
Nothing follows us. It never occurred to them that a man should want to escape good fortune. They never think to bolt the door when they have gilded the walls. O, how profitably one can surprise these people who think the entire world reflects their contemplation of self.
Gwymplane
[Who has not heard the preceding speech at all, comes in, halting abruptly.]
Life, life. It has suddenly burst its leash—torn in among us like a mad dog and wounded us, mortally, I think, [glances at Dea] O, the pain, the tragedy that can come out of nonsense. Will Dea live, can Dea live?
Ursus [sighing heavily]