Part 115 (1/2)

PAOLO. Mario, who knew him!

ANNA. I ignore that.

PAOLO. Did he ever speak of it?

MARIO. Do not reply, Anna, do not answer, come away--he is ill, he does not reason--poor devil--it will pa.s.s and he will understand then--

ANNA. No, it is useless.

PAOLO. A useless tragedy, isn't it, Anna?

ANNA. Do you require anything more of me?

PAOLO [_imperiously_]. Yes. I want the letters which you wrote to Luciano.

ANNA. That is just. I will go and get them. [_Exits._]

PAOLO. All!

[_Anna returns and hands Paolo a key._]

ANNA. They're in my desk, in the first drawer at the right. They are tied with a black ribbon.

PAOLO. Very well. [_Exits._]

MARIO. Pardon him, Anna, he does not know what he is doing. He loves you so much? He is rather weak.

ANNA. Oh, without pity!

MARIO. As are the weak. He loves you--he loves you.

ANNA. Worse for him that he loves me. He will lose.

MARIO. No, it is for you to help him.

ANNA. As long as I can.

[_Paolo returns with the letters in his hand, goes to the desk and takes out the others, throws them all into the fire-place and lights them._]

MARIO. What are you doing? Look, Anna!

[_Anna stands rigid, erect and watches the letters burn, and murmurs as though to herself._]

ANNA. Gone! Gone! Gone!

[_Paolo comes to Anna with hands clinched as though in prayer, bursts into tears and kneels before her. Mario goes off half in contempt and half in despair._]

PAOLO [_on his knees_]. And now--can you pardon me?

[_Anna reluctantly rests a hand upon his head, then indulgently and discouragingly._]