[A pause. Atalanta looks at Benvenuta wonderingly.]
The vinedresser's baby—did you ever hold him in your arms?
Atalanta. No.
Benvenuta. Nor ever felt his lips soft and moist against your cheek, nor his fingers warm on your neck?
Atalanta. No. I only saw the child, as I told you.
Benvenuta. I remember now. You only saw him.
[Another pause. Benvenuta is looking toward the Sacristy closet.]
Atalanta, dear, do you know that we can only be happy by pleasing those we love most—that is what people live for, I think. And dear, remember this: the happiness you saw on the face of the vinedresser's wife was as torment beside the joy that is glowing in me.
[Her eyes meet Atalanta's for a moment.]
Don't, dear—don't think it too strange. Everything is strange, after all.