MAR. I promise it, Rose-Red. And oh, believe me, I said no word to you last year that is not As true today! I hold you still the noblest Of women, and the bravest. I have not changed. Only last year I did not know I could love As I love now. Her gentleness has crept so Into my heart, it never will be out. That she should turn to me and cling to me And let me shelter her, is the great wonder Of the world. You stand alone. You need no shelter, Rose-Red. BEA. It may be so. MAR. Will you forgive me? BEA. I had not thought of that. If it will please you, Ay, surely.--And now, the reason for my coming: I have a message for you, of such vast import She could not trust it to a liv'ried page, Or even a courier. She bids me tell you She loves you still, although you have been parted Since four o'clock. MAR. [Happily.] Did she say that? BEA. Ay, Mario. I must return to her. It is not long now Till she will leave me. MAR. She will never leave you, She tells me, in her heart. BEA. [Happily.] Did she say that? MAR. Ay, that she did, and I was jealous of you One moment, till I called myself a fool. BEA. Nay, Mario, she does not take from you To give to me; and I am most content She told you that. I will go now. Farewell, Mario! MAR. Nay, we shall meet again, Beatrice! Scene 4 [The ball-room of the palace at Fiori, raised place in back, surmounted by two big chairs, for Lorenzo and Octavia to sit while the dance goes on. Dais on one side, well down stage, in full sight of the audience, for Mario and Bianca. As the curtain rises the stage is empty except for Fidelio, who sits forlornly on the bottom steps of the raised place in the back of the stage, his lute across his knees, his head bowed upon it. Sound of laughter and conversation, possibly rattling of dishes, off stage, evidently a feast going on.] LAU. [Off stage.] Be still, or I will heave a plate at you! LUIGI. [Off stage.] Nay, gentle Laura, heave not the wedding-crockery, At the wedding-guest! Behold me on my knees To tell the world I love you like a fool! LAU. Get up, you oaf! Or here's a platter of gravy Will add the motley to your folly! LUIGI. Hold her, Some piteous fop, that liketh not to see Fine linen smeared with goose! Oh, gracious Laura, I never have seen a child sucking an orange But I wished an orange, too. This wedding irks me Because 'tis not mine own. Shall we be married Tuesday or Wednesday? LAU. Are you in earnest, Luigi? LUIGI. Ay, that I am, if never I was before. LAU. La, I am lost! I am a married woman! Water!--Nay, wine will do! On Wednesday, then. I'll have it as far off as possible. [Enter from banquet-room Guido, Giovanni and Raffaele.] GIO. Well met, Fidelio! Give us a song! FID. Not I! GUI. Why, is this? You, that are dripping with song Weekdays, are dry of music for a wedding?