BRACCIO [_steps into the doorway again, carrying an armchair, which he places in the opening of the door. He seats himself on it, facing his wife. His face does not change. From time to time he raises his right hand mechanically and examines the little wound upon his palm_]. BRACCIO [_his tone is cold, rather disdainful. He points with his foot and eyes to the ladder_]. Who? DIANORA [_raises her shoulders, and drops them slowly_]. BRACCIO. I know! DIANORA [_raises her shoulders and drops them slowly. Her teeth are clenched_]. BRACCIO [_moves his hand, barely glances at his wife, and looks again into the garden_]. Palla degli Albizzi! DIANORA [_between her teeth_]. How ugly the most beautiful name becomes when uttered by unseemly tongue. BRACCIO [_looks at her as though he were about to speak, but remains silent. Pause_]. BRACCIO. How old are you? DIANORA [_does not answer_]. BRACCIO. Fifteen and five. You are twenty years old. DIANORA [_does not answer. Pause_]. DIANORA [_almost screaming_]. My father's name was Bartholomeno Colleone--you can let me say the Lord's Prayer and the Hail Mary, and then kill me, but not let me stand here like a fettered beast. BRACCIO [_looks at her as though surprised; does not answer--glances at his hand_]. DIANORA [_strokes back her hair slowly, folds her elbows over her breast, stares at him, then drops her arms, seems to divine his plan. Her voice is completely changed and is like a string that is stretched to the breaking-point_]. One of my women I desire, who will-- [_She stops; her voice seems to give out._] First braid my hair--'tis tangled, disarranged. BRACCIO. You often help yourself without a maid. DIANORA [_presses her lips together, says nothing, smoothes her hair at the temples, folds her hands_]. I have no children. My mother I saw once-- I saw her once, just before she died. My father led me and my sister to A vaulted, high, severe and gloomy room. The suff'rer I saw not; her hand alone Hung like a greeting to me--that I kissed. About my father I remember this. He wore an armor of green burnished gold With darker clasps--two always helped him mount Upon his horse, for he was very old-- I hardly knew Medea. Not much joy, Had she, my sister. Thin of hair, Her forehead and her temples older seemed, Much older, than her mouth and her hands to me-- She always held a flower in her hand.-- O Lord, have mercy unto these sweet souls As unto mine, and bid them welcome me, Greeting me kindly when I come to Thee. I cannot kneel--there is no space to kneel. BRACCIO [_rises, pushes the chair into the room to make space for her. She does not notice him_]. DIANORA.