LUCREZIA. Poor boy.
ALBERTO (_lifting up a blubbered face to the moonlight_). I am so
unhappy.
LUCREZIA. You can't be more unhappy than I am.
ALBERTO. Oh yes, I am. It's impossible to be unhappier than me.
LUCREZIA. But I _am_ more unhappy.
ALBERTO. You re not. Oh, how can you be so cruel Lucrezia? (_He covers
his face once more_.)
LUCREZIA. But I only said I was unhappy Alberto.
ALBERTO. Yes, I know. That showed you weren't thinking of me. Nobody
loves me. I shall hang myself to-night with the cord of my
dressing-gown.
LUCREZIA. NO, no, Alberto. You mustn't do anything rash.
ALBERTO. I shall. Your cruelty has been the last straw.
LUCREZIA. I'm sorry, Bertino mio. But if you only knew how miserable I
was feeling. I didn't mean to be unsympathetic. Poor boy. I'm so sorry.
There, don't cry, poor darling.
ALBERTO. Oh, I knew you wouldn't desert me, Lucrezia. You've always been
a mother to me. (_He stretches out his hand and seizes hers, which has
gone half-way to meet him; but the balconies are too far apart to allow
him to kiss it. He makes an effort and fails. He is too short in the
body_,) Will you let me come onto your balcony, Lucrezia? I want to tell
you how grateful I am.
LUCREZIA. But you can do that from your own balcony.
ALBERTO. Please, please, Lucrezia. You mustn't be cruel to me again. I
can't bear it.
LUCREZIA. Well, then.... Just for a moment, but for no more, (BERTINO
_climbs from one balcony to the other. One is a little reminded of the
trousered monkeys on the barrel organs. Arrived, he kneels down and
kisses_ LUCREZIA'S _hand_.)
ALBERTO. You've saved me. You've given given me a fresh desire to live
and a fresh faith in life. How can I thank you enough, Lucrezia,
darling?
LUCREZIA (_patting his head_). There, there. _We_ are just two unhappy
creatures. We must try and comfort one another.
ALBERTO. What a brute I am! I never thought of your unhappiness. I am so
selfish. What is it, Lucrezia?
LUCREZIA. I can't tell you, Bertino; but it's very painful.
ALBERTO. Poor child, poor child. (_His kisses, which started at the
hand, have mounted, by this time, some way up the arm, changing
perceptibly in character as they rise. At the shoulder they have a
warmth which could not have been inferred from the respectful salutes
which barely touched the fingers_.) Poor darling! You've given me
consolation. Now you must let me comfort your unhappiness.
LUCREZIA (_with an effort_). I think you ought to go back now, Bertino.
ALBERTO. In a minute, my darling. There, there, poor Lucrezia. (_He puts
an arm round her, kisses her hair and neck._ LUCREZIA _leans her bowed
head against his chest. The sound of footsteps is heard. They both look
up with scared, wide-open eyes_.)
LUCREZIA. We mustn't be seen here, Bertino. What would people think?
ALBERTO. I'll go back.
LUCREZIA. There's no time. You must come into my room. Quickly.
(_They slip through the French window, but not quickly enough to have
escaped the notice of_ PAUL, _returning from his midnight stroll. The_
VICOMTE _stands for a moment looking up at the empty balcony. He laughs
softly to himself, and, throwing his cigarette away, passes through the
glass door into the house. All is now silent, save for the nightingales
and the distant bells. The curtain comes down for a moment to indicate
the passage of several hours. It rises again with the sun_. LUCREZIA's
_window opens and she appears on the balcony. She stands a moment with
one foot over the threshold of the long window in a listening pose. Then
her eyes fall on the better half of a pair of pink pyjamas lying
crumpled on the floor, like a body bereft of its soul; with her bare
foot she turns it over. A little shudder plucks at her nerves, and she
shakes her head as though, by this symbolic act, to shake off something
clinging and contaminating. Then she steps out into the full glory of
the early sun, stretching out her arms to the radiance. She bows her
face into her hands, crying out loud to herself_.) LUCREZIA. Oh, why,
why, why? (_The last of these Why's is caught by the_ WAITER, _who has
crept forth in shirt-sleeves and list-slippers, duster in hand, to clean
the tables. He looks up at her admiringly, passes his tongue over his
lips. Then, with a sigh, turns to dust the tables_.)