AGAZZI. But excuse me ... how in the world could he be offended by such a thing? I _don't_ understand. SIGNORA FROLA. Oh, please don't be angry, Signor Agazzi. You see it's a ... what shall I say ... a feeling ... that's it, a feeling, which it would perhaps be very hard for anyone else to understand; and yet, when you do understand it, it's all so simple, I am sure ... so simple ... and believe me, my dear friends, it is no slight sacrifice that I am making, and that my daughter is making, too. AGAZZI. Well, one thing you will admit, madam. This is a very, very unusual situation. SIRELLI. Unusual, indeed! And such as to justify a curiosity even more persistent than ours. AGAZZI. It is not only unusual, madam. I might even say it is suspicious. SIGNORA FROLA. Suspicious? You mean you suspect Signor Ponza? Oh please, Commendatore, don't say that. What fault can you possibly find with him, Signor Agazzi? AGAZZI. I didn't say just that.... Please don't misunderstand! I said simply that the situation is so very strange that people might legitimately suspect.... SIGNORA FROLA. Oh, no, no, no! What could they suspect. We are in perfect agreement, all of us; and we are really quite happy, very happy, I might even say ... both I and my daughter. SIGNORA SIRELLI. Perhaps it's a case of jealousy? SIGNORA FROLA. Jealousy of me? It would be hardly fair to say that, although ... really ... oh, it is so hard to explain!... You see, he is in love with my daughter, so much so that he wants her whole heart, her every thought, as it were, for himself; so much so that he insists that the affections which my daughter must have for me, her mother--he finds that love quite natural of course, why not? Of course he does!--should reach me through him--that's it, through him--don't you understand? AGAZZI. Oh, that is going pretty strong! No, I don't understand. In fact it seems to me a case of downright cruelty! SIGNORA FROLA. Cruelty? No, no, please don't call it cruelty, Commendatore. It is something else, believe me! You see it's so hard for me to explain the matter. Nature, perhaps ... but no, that's hardly the word. What shall I call it? Perhaps a sort of disease. It's a fullness of love, of a love shut off from the world. There, I guess that's it ... a fullness ... a completeness of devotion in which his wife must live without ever departing from it, and into which no other person must ever be allowed to enter. DINA. Not even her mother, I suppose? SIRELLI. It is the worst case of selfishness I ever heard of, if you want my opinion!