There's more--I must remember--Bergamo, Where I was born--the house in Feltre where The uncles and the cousins were.... Then they put me upon a gallant steed Caparisoned most splendidly--they rode, Cousins and many others by my side. And so I came here, from whence I now go.... [_She has leaned back and looked up at the glittering stars upon the black sky--she shudders_]. I wanted something else-- [_She searches her memory._] In Bergamo where I was taught to walk Upon the path that brought me here, I was Often--most frequently through pride,--and now I am contrite and would go to confession For all those errors, and some graver ones;-- When I [_She ponders._]--three days after Saint Magdalen Was riding homeward from the chase with him. This man, here, who's my husband--others too-- Upon the bridge an old lame beggar lay. I knew that he was old and ill and sore And there was something in his tired eyes Reminded me of my dead father--but Nevertheless--only because the one Riding beside me touched my horse's bridle, I did not pull aside, but let the dust My horse kicked up, blind, choke that poor old man. Yes, so close I rode that with his hands He had to lift aside his injured leg. This I remember, this I now regret. BRACCIO. The one beside you held your horse's bridle? [_He looks at her._] DIANORA [_answers his look, understands him, says trenchantly_]: Yes! Then as often since--as often since-- And yet how rarely after all! How meager is all joy--a shallow stream In which you're forced to kneel, that it may reach Up to your shoulders-- BRACCIO. Of my servants who,--of all your women, Who knew of these things? DIANORA [_is silent_]. BRACCIO [_makes a disdainful gesture_]. DIANORA. Falsely, quite falsely, you interpret now My silence. How can I tell you who might know?-- But if you think that I am one of those Who hides behind her hireling's her joy, You know me ill. Now note--note and take heed. Once may a woman be--yes, once she may Be as I was for twelve weeks--once she may be If she had found no need of veil before, All veiled, protected by her own great pride As by a shield--she once may rend that veil, Feel her cheeks crimson, burning in the sun. Horrible she, who twice could such a thing! I'm not of these--that surely you must know. Who knew?--Who guessed? I never hid my thoughts? Your brother must have known--just as you knew, Your brother just as you. Ask him, ask him! [_Her voice is strange, almost childlike, yet exalted._]