Irene. 'Tis well; thou mayst retire. I will send answer by thee to thy queen, and seek some gift that may be worthy her acceptance. And now, adieu! [Rienzi _bows and retires._] He does not love me, then, and I must wed a cold and careless lord. And yet--so tender to all others, he could not be unkind to me alone. Oh, that I could win his love unknown, and then when truly mine, to cast away the mask, and be myself again. Stay! let me think. Ah, yes; I see a way. Surely the gods have sent the thought! I will disguise me as a slave, and as a gift sent to his mother, I can see and learn to know him well. I will return with the ambassador, Rienzi. I spake to him of a gift. He little thinks in the veiled slave he shall bear away, the princess is concealed. Yes, Constantine, as a nameless girl will Irene win thy heart; and when as a wife she stands beside thee, thou shalt love her for herself alone. [_Tableau._ CURTAIN. SCENE SECOND. [_A room in the palace of_ The Queen. The Queen _alone._] Queen. Why comes he not? They told me that our ambassador to the Princess Irene had returned, and bore a gift for me. Would that it were a picture of herself! They say she is wondrous fair; and could my wayward son but gaze upon her, his heart might yet be won. [_Enter_ Irene, _disguised as the slave,_ Ione.] Ah, a stranger! Who art thou? [Ione _kneels and presents a letter._ Queen [_reads the letter_]. Ah, welcome! Thy mistress tells me she hath chosen from among her train the fairest and most faithful of her slaves, as a gift for me. With thanks do I accept thee. Lift thy veil, child, that I may see how our maidens do compare with thee. [Ione _lifts her veil._ The Queen _gazes in surprise at her beauty._] Thou art too beautiful to be a slave. What is thy name? Ione. Ione; may it please thee, lady. Queen. 'Tis a fit name for one so fair; and thy country, maiden? Ione. With the princess, my kind mistress, have I dwelt for many happy years; and honored by her choice now offer my poor services to thee. Queen. What canst thou do, Ione? Thou art too fair and delicate to bear the heavy water-urn or gather fruit. Ione. I can weave garlands, lady; touch the harp, and sing sweet songs; can bear thee wine, and tend thy flowers. I can be true and faithful, and no task will be too hard for thy grateful slave, Ione.