Puppet Man. Mercy of the Saints! Five ducats for Shrove Tuesday, and a Holophernes to be visibly beheaded—in a most illustrious convent, too. It is ruin to me, Reverendissima—black ruin.
Abbess. Five ducats you shall have.
Puppet Man [starting to put his puppets back in the bag]. It is not possible, Reverendissima. No one of my craft could do it—even the worst of them would ask more than I have. Mere jugglers and bunglers from Padua would ask twenty ducats. And the fame of this convent! I see I have been deceived,—
Abbess. Be silent, sir. You cannot trifle with me. Put down your trinkets. Do you know who I am, and of what family in the world? Well, sir?
Puppet Man [slowly putting down his puppets again]. Maybe it will profit me in the sight of the Saints—
Abbess. I need not warn you further. Be prepared for the performance in the best style against Shrove Tuesday. And if all goes well, I may add a ducat to your fee.
[She taps a gong on the table, and the Sister Sacristan enters. The Puppet Man, dismissed, bows himself out, clutching the manuscript to his breast. The Sacristan follows him out, returning at once.]
Now, Father, since the play is yours, it shall also be yours to pass on the propriety of the figures.
Abbe Filosi. I do not seek the responsibility, Reverendissima. Will you not excuse me?
Abbess. You have some intention in this, Father?