(_Lower._) The rising water. (_Pauses, while passing hand over her forehead._) Nor do _I_ understand. It is my weakness, I suppose. All women have something that makes them fear without a reason, and this is mine---- _Paulo_ (_Protectively._) For which I love you all the more. For had you reasoned you would not have married me. (_To himself._) Strange, strange.… (_Recovers gaiety and turns to picture._) See how it grows, Lucia. All that I scraped out yesterday I have repainted. Long before the Competition Day I shall have finished it. (_Enthusiastically._) Look! _Lucia_ The glow, the warmth, the colour--you’ve caught it all? _Paulo_ I hope so. But when my model _and_ my critic desert me both at once like this---- _Lucia_ Dear Paulo. (_Sighs._) And it’s so difficult for me to make five scudi do the work of ten. (_Shows agitation._) I know, oh, I know. (_Excitement._) Yet somehow, somehow we shall find a way. And it will be wonderful---- _Paulo_ (_Noticing her mood and wondering._) It is you who are wonderful--(_shakes finger at her_) intriguing with Fate as ever---- _Lucia_ (_Quickly._) No, not intriguing. I am but your wife--and model. (_Laughs._) _Paulo_ And inspiration---- _Lucia_ And critic---- _Paulo_ And manager! That is the wonder--that you who fled with a painter to learn poverty like this (_shows bare room_) and this (_shows clothes_) and this (_touches heart_) should bargain so cleverly in the market-place and carry home our fish and vegetables in your coloured apron--the Lady Lucia, a house-wife of the people! _Lucia_ Forgetting the wine as usual, and dropping half the fish on my way! (_Seriously._) Love makes it beautiful. It is for love’s sake, Paulo. _Paulo_ (_Emphatically._) And the work’s sake. _Lucia_ (_Quickly._) The work, ah yes, the work’s sake. (_Excitedly._) Oh, my Paulo, what would I not do--what would I not sacrifice for your advancement--I mean, for your art, your wonderful great art. (_Confused._) _Paulo_ (_Quietly._) This shall be our love’s first-fruits (_pointing to canvas_). _Lucia_ (_Repeats low to herself._) Our love’s first-fruits. _Paulo_ (_Rapt._) When you and I float over the lagoons as dust upon the wind--(_turns to her from picture, and lowers voice_) when you and I are gone--remembered, perhaps, only as Paulo the painter, and Lucia his inspiration--this beauty--ah, that is my dream--this beauty shall still shine out for the world. [_They watch the picture for a moment._ _Lucia_ I fear one thing only for you--poverty. You should have _everything_. _Paulo_ I have. Everything that matters to an artist, and its name is inspiration. [_Looks with passionate admiration at her._ _Lucia_ (_With growing agitation._) You left Florence for my sake. But for me, the great Princes--(_with an effort_) the Medici--would have helped. _Paulo_