Soph. [Softly] It may not be always cold and white to him.
Vasil. [Thoughtfully] Perhaps not, or he would not know so well——
Soph. How others see?
Vasil. [Nods, and takes up his violin] Shall I play now, princess?
Soph. Yes, but do not think of me,—think of——
Vasil. I know. The great love.
[He plays, standing by window. Vera sits leaning against Sophie's lap. The princess gazes toward the door, and her look meets Adrian's as he enters. He crosses and stands by her chair. She reaches up and gives him her hand, which he clasps. Curtain]