Vic. Ah Beatrice! if you only knew what heartaches you’ve cost me.
Beat. You indeed, robbing and murdering, and I don’t know what beside, up in the mountains! and then my new madam that’s come with you, Donna Violante; with her fine Elvira—I know, sir, when your master was courting his mistress, you—
Vic. Now, my own Beatrice, if you could only know what you are talking of as well as I, how little jealousy could such a creature as that give you!
Beat. Well—but why?
Vic. Not a woman at all, neither maid nor mermaid—Why, didn’t I catch her with all those fine locks of hers clean off her head?
Beat. Clean off her head?
Vic. The woman’s bald.
Beat. Bald?
Vic. As my hand! besides, all the fine white chevaux-de-frise that ornaments her gums.
Beat. Well?