_Orso._ Sir, you are desired.

_Petrarca._ By whom?

_Orso._ Her veil Was lifted and she told me: Therefore I say it out--Madonna Laura.

(_All stare, amazed. Silence._)

_Petrarca_ (_hoa.r.s.ely_). What lie is this!

_Orso._ I am too old to lie.

_Sancia_ (_laughing_). Who was the G.o.ddess that his books tell of, The cold one so long chaste, but who at last----

_Lello._ Be silent, Sancia! Francesco ... what?

_Petrarca_ (_to ORSO_). Lead Monna Laura here--

(_ORSO goes._)

If it is she!...

But you, my friends, must know how strange this is, And how--!... I have no words!...

Wait me, I pray you, yonder, in that chamber.

(_They go, left, SANCIA shrugging. Then ORSO brings LAURA, whom PETRARCA is helpless to greet, and who falters--yet n.o.bly determining, comes down._)

_Laura._ Messer Petrarca, ... I have been impelled To come ... and as the purest should, boldly, With lifted veil, to say ...

_Petrarca._ Lady!

_Laura._ To say-- (Of grat.i.tude I cannot give another ...

For life to a woman is but resignation, And that at last is shame) ...

_Petrarca._ At last ... shame----

_Laura._ To say--Love is to us as light to the lilies That lean by Mont Ventoux.

The love of one pure man for one pure woman.

_Petrarca_ (_dazed_). Lady!...

_Laura._ Yes, and--I've been unkind to you.

Ungentle ever.

(_Shakes her head._)

But there's no other way sometimes for those Who would be wholly true.

And yet ... do I owe _any_ truth to _him_?

_Petrarca._ To--Ugo di Sade?

_Laura_ (_bitterly_). Who is called my husband?

How I was bound to him, you know! and how I've dwelt and have endured more than his bursts Of burning cruelty. For still, I thought, He is my husband!

And still--He is my husband!...

But now no more I think it--oh! no more!

Too visible it is That he belongs to any--who sell love.

So I may innocently say to you Who for two years have sung my name Yet never once have turned unto another--

(_PETRARCA pales._)

I well may say ...

(_Stopped by his manner._)

There's something that you ... Ah!

(_Sees, stricken, his grief and shame. Then her glance goes round the room and falls on the wine-table ... Then SANCIA is heard within:_)

_Sancia._ Well, well, Messer Petrarca! How long will You shut us in this dark--that is as black As old Pope John the twenty-second's soul?

A pretty festa, this!

_Petrarca_ (_brokenly_). Merciless G.o.d!

(_Falls abased before LAURA'S look, tortured with remorse._)

O lady, what have I done beyond repair!...

(_She gathers her veil._)

What have I lost within this gulf of shame!

For a paltry pleasure have I sold my dream, Whose pinions would have lifted you at last?

_Laura_ (_very pale_). I did not know, Messer Petrarca, you Had friends awaiting.

(_Pauses numbly._)

I came to-night, as first I would have said, With holy grat.i.tude-- For a love I thought you gave.

With grat.i.tude that honor well could speak, I thought, and yet be honor; With grat.i.tude forgetful of all else ...

And trusting ... But no matter: All trust shall be embalmed and laid away.

I go with pity; seeing My husband--is even as other men.

(_She pa.s.ses to the door and out: PETRARCA moans. Then LELLO enters and comes to him anxiously._)

_Lello._ Francesco!

_Petrarca._ Lello!

(_Dazed._)

Lello! Have I dreamed?