So it must be Sister Benvenuta, must it?
Atalanta. I would speak with her.
Grimana. Oho! You would speak with her! And so you shall—for the love I bore your mother when we were children together. But what good she can do you, with her chatter and laughing—childish laughing and chatter—I can't see. I'll send her to you. And meantime, count your buttons. That's my advice. Count your buttons.
[She comes close and speaks more confidentially.]
That helps greatly—it did when I was your age.
[Grimana goes off. Atalanta mechanically runs her fingers over the buttons of her novice's cape; as she arrives at the end of the row, she mutters.]
Atalanta. Even you, Benvenuta!
[At the second word she rises abruptly, her hands on the veil.]
Heaven forgive me!
[She tears off the veil just as Benvenuta enters from the left. Benvenuta limps down around the Mother Superior's throne, and on seeing Atalanta with her veil off, bursts into laughter.]