Benvenuta. For what I am doing, I would call for help from you—or from any one—from the Evil One himself, if it would serve. But it is surely no sin—though it might get you into trouble to help me with it, Atalanta, dear.
Atalanta. Prt! That's not what I mind.
Benvenuta. You—you love me enough to be troubled for my sake, a little, dear?
Atalanta [breaking out]. I would flout the Mother Abbess to her face for you, Benvenuta. It's that you try to keep me in the dark that I mind about it. I'm going.
[Atalanta turns sharply and goes. Benvenuta lays out the little coat of the gardener's child, and lays her lawn, already cut, upon it. She seems discouraged, turns it over, and tries again. Then with an air of resolution, she takes it up and sews fiercely, pricking her fingers, stopping to put them to her mouth, and going on doggedly.]
Benvenuta. I promised it, dear little Great One, and I would give my soul to keep my promise, but I fear me it will never comfort you.
[She sews for a minute in silence. Then lifts her head with a sudden thought, and says aloud with a firm resolution]:
I would give my soul.
[She waits. After a moment there is a light tapping of footsteps; then a marked rapping, as of hoofs on a pavement; she shivers, and starts up in sudden terror, as Beelzebubb Satanasso confronts her. He is like the Devil Puppet in every respect, but the size of a small man. He bows low in a mechanical sort of way as if jointed. She gazes at him in wonder, laughs nervously and suppresses her laughter.]
Beelzebubb [in a voice like a Jews' harp]. Sister Benvenuta, did I hear you call for me, or wish for me to come?