LUCREZIA (_looking up and stretching forth her hands_). Sidney.... (DOLPHIN _does not look round, and disappears through the glass door into the hotel_, LUCREZIA _covers her face with her hands and sits for a little sobbing silently. The nightingale sings on. Midnight sounds with an infinite melancholy from all the twenty campaniles of the city in the valley. From far away comes the spasmodic throbbing of a guitar and the singing of an Italian voice, high-pitched, passionate, throaty. The seconds pass_, LUCREZIA _rises to her feet and walks slowly into the hotel. On the threshold she encounters the_ VICOMTE _coming out_.) PAUL. You, Signorina Lucrezia? I've escaped for a breath of fresh, cool air. Mightn't we take a turn together? (LUCREZIA _shakes her head_.) Ah, well, then, good-night. You'll be glad to hear that Miss Toomis knows all about Correggio now. (_He inhales a deep breath of air. Then looking at his dinner-jacket he begins brushing at it with his hand. A lamentable figure creeps in from the left. It is_ ALBERTO. _If he had a tail, it would be trailing on the ground between his legs_.) PAUL. Hullo, Alberto. What is it? Been losing at cards? ALBERTO. Worse than that. PAUL. Creditors foreclosing? ALBERTO. Much worse. PAUL. Father ruined by imprudent speculations? ALBERTO. No, no, no. It's nothing to do with money. PAUL. Oh, well, then. It can't be anything very serious. It's women, I suppose. ALBERTO. My mistress refuses to see me. I have been beating on her door for hours in vain. PAUL. I wish we all had your luck, Bertino. Mine opens her door only too promptly. The difficulty is to get out again. Does yours use such an awful lot of this evil-smelling powder? I'm simply covered with it. Ugh! (_He brushes his coat again_.) ALBERTO. Can't you be serious, Paul? PAUL. Of course I can ... about a serious matter. But you can't expect me to pull a long face about your mistress, can you, now? Do look at things in their right proportions. ALBERTO. It's no use talking to you. You're heartless, soulless. PAUL. What you mean, my dear Alberto, is that I'm relatively speaking bodiless. Physical passion never goes to my head. I'm always _compos mentis_. You aren't, that's all. ALBERTO. Oh, you disgust me. I think I shall hang myself to-night. PAUL. Do. It will give us something to talk about at lunch to-morrow.