AGAZZI (_in the doorway_). After you, after you, please! (_He takes Ponza's elbow and motions him into the room. He goes over to his desk, looks about for the papers which he pretends he had forgotten, finds them eventually and says_). Why, here they are! I was sure I had left them here. Won't you take a chair, Ponza? (_Ponza seems not to hear. He stands looking excitedly at the door into the drawing room, through which the sound of the piano is still coming_). AGAZZI. Yes, they are the ones! (_He takes the papers and steps to Ponza's side, opening the fold_). It is an old case, you see. Been running now for years and years! To tell you the truth I haven't made head or tail of the stuff myself. I imagine you'll find it one big mess. (_He, too, becomes aware of the music and seems somewhat irritated by it. His eyes also rest on the door to the drawing room_). That noise, just at this moment! (_He walks with a show of anger to the door_). Who is that at the piano anyway? (_In the doorway he stops and looks, and an expression of astonishment comes into his face_). Ah! PONZA (_going to the door also. On looking into the next room he can hardly restrain his emotion_). In the name of God, is _she_ playing? AGAZZI. Yes--Signora Frola! And how well she does play! PONZA. How is this? You people have brought her in here, again! And you're letting her play! AGAZZI. Why not? What's the harm? PONZA. Oh, please, please, no, not that song! It is the one her daughter used to play. AGAZZI. Ah, I see! And it hurts you? PONZA. Oh, no, not me--but her--it hurts her--and you don't know how much! I thought I had made you and those women understand just how that poor old lady was! AGAZZI. Yes, you did ... quite true! But you see ... but see here, Ponza! (_trying to pacify the man's growing emotion_). PONZA (_continuing_). But you _must_ leave her alone! You _must_ not go to her house! She _must_ not come in here! I am the only person who can deal with her. You are killing her ... killing her! AGAZZI. No, I don't think so. It is not so bad as that. My wife and daughter are surely tactful enough.... (_Suddenly the music ceases. There is a burst of applause_). AGAZZI. There, you see. Listen! Listen! (_From the next room the following conversation is distinctly heard_). DINA. Why, Signora Frola, you are perfectly _marvellous_ at the piano! SIGNORA FROLA. But you should hear how my Lena plays! (_Ponza digs his nails into his hands_). AGAZZI. Her daughter, of course! PONZA. Didn't you hear? "How my Lena plays! How my Lena _plays_!" (_Again from the inside_).