Fifty Contemporary One-Act Plays

by Unknown

I regret that ink will not do. You must prick one of your fingers. I am very sorry, but there is no other way.

Benvenuta. Prick my finger? Once?

Beelzebubb. Only once, to secure the drop of blood. I am sorry to ask it, but—

Benvenuta. As though it never happened to me before!

[She pricks her finger and squeezes out a drop of Blood. He whips out a quill pen, and deftly wets it with the blood.]

Beelzebubb. You will sign here.

Benvenuta. And what does it say? I should be loath to sign anything unworthy of my family, or of this noble convent—

Beelzebubb. There is nothing novel about it—the form is quite usual, and has been signed, I assure you, by many of the highest families in Venice. It merely binds me at once to furnish you the rich coat, and you to give me your little flame of a soul—when I come for it. That is all.

Benvenuta. Give me the pen.

[She signs the contract. He passes his hand thrice across the pouch and then takes from it the coat, and lays it across her lap. He steps back and bows stiffly, folding the contract and smiling.]