_Inés claps her hand joyously like a child as she returns
to the middle of the stage._
INÉS. He will speak this very day to the duchess. He has promised, and
he may be relied upon, for he never breaks his word. That is settled,
then. He will see her, and my father speaks so well! Why, is he not a
man of vast learning? He is certain to convince her. If such a man as
he were not able to persuade the duchess that Edward and I ought to be
married, of what avail his having studied so much? Why possess so many
books in French, in Italian, in German, and even in Greek? Such futile
learning! But no, he will twist her round his finger. Besides, they
all say that she is a saint. How could she be anything else, being
Edward's mother? A saint, do they say? But if, being such, she refused
to allow Edward to marry me, what sort of sanctity would her's be? and
of what its use? What nonsense! of course we shall be married—why, we
must, and it is I who say it. [_Pause._] It seems impossible—like a
dream. Good gracious, if it should prove a dream, then let me never
awake. But it is no dream. This is my father's study. Those are his
books. [_Approaches the bookcase._] Newton, Kant, Hegel, Humboldt,
Shakespeare, Lagrange, Plato, St. Thomas—It is very certain that if it
were a dream I should not remember all those names, for what do I know
of such illustrious gentlemen? [_Looks over balcony._] I can be sure
that it is no dream, for there is rain falling, falling. What a
delightful thing rain is! The air seems converted into little bars of
crystal. And in yonder mirror I can see myself. [_Goes over to
looking-glass with coquettish play._] It is certainly myself whom I
know so well. I, with my oval face, which Edward finds so perfect.
Fancy his taste! with my hazel eyes, which Edward finds so lovely. Was
there ever such another as he for telling pretty lies? But truly at
this moment, what with delight and the heat of the fire, my eyes do
shine with an extraordinary brightness. I should like to be
pretty—prettier than ever—for his sake, for his dear sake. But why
does he not come? It is very late. Now that I want so much to see him,
he won't come. You see he won't come—men are so selfish and horrid.