Mrs. Del. Now will you kill me?
Poe. (Brightening) No. You were right. ’T was what I needed. ’T will keep life in me till she comes. Go to her now. Tell her I will leave her—I will go away for a year—a thousand years—if she will only say I may come back some day. I will live in a desert and pray myself to the bone! Bring me one word from her—a curse—anything!
Mrs. Del. (Pouring wine) A little more of this then, so I shall be sure to find you alive when I return.
Poe. (Drinks eagerly) ’T is life! Life! I ’ve drunk of Cretan wines against whose fragrant tide the Venus-rose poured all her flood in vain, but never thrilled my lips till now with drop so ravishing! And you brought it to me! Helen left me to die ... cruel ... cruel ... cruel.... (Sits on couch, taking his head in his hands. Looks up) Florimel!
Mrs. Del. My Calidore!
Poe. You are a very beautiful devil.
Mrs. Del. (Pouring wine) Thanks. I ’m glad you like my style. (Sips wine) It is good, is n’t it?
Poe. ’T is an enchantment to pilot grief to new and festal worlds! Another cup! (Drinks) O, ’t is a drink to rouse the drooping soul for warrier quest till on the conquered shores of dream man strides a god!... (Pours another glass) Again? No ... no more!... (Sinks down) O, my bird of Heaven, come quickly, or I am lost!... Florimel!
Mrs. Del. My knight of Normandy!
Poe. Since we are going to hell let us be merry about it.