enderness, words of--[There is the distant sound of music from
mandolin and guitar.] Ah! [To AGNES.] Keep your shawl over your
shoulders. [Opening the window, and stepping out; the music becoming
louder.] Some mandolinisti in a gondola. [Listening at the window, his
head turned from her.] How pretty, Agnes! Now, don't those mere sounds,
in such surroundings, give you a sensation of hatred for revolt and
turmoil! Don't they conjure up alluringly pictures of peace and
pleasure, of golden days and star-lit nights--pictures of beauty and
love?

AGNES. [Sitting on the settee, staring before her, speaking to
herself.] My marriage--the early days of my marriage--all over again!

LUCAS. [Turning to her.] Eh? [Closing the window and coming to her, as
the music dies away.] Tell me that those sounds thrill you.

AGNES. Lucas--

LUCAS. [Sitting beside her.] Yes?

AGNES. For the first few months of my marriage--[Breaking off abruptly
and looking into his face wonderingly.] Why, how young you seem to have
become; you look quite boyish!

LUCAS. [Laughing.] I believe that this return of our senses will make
us both young again.

AGNES. Both? [With a little shudder.] You know, I'm older than you.

LUCAS. Tsch!

AGNES. [Passing her hand through his hair.] Yes, I shall feel that now.
[Stroking his brow tenderly.] Well--so it has come to this.

LUCAS. I declare that you have colour in your cheeks already.

AGNES. The return of my senses?

LUCAS. My dear Agnes, we've both been to the verge of madness, you and
I--driven there by our troubles. [Taking her hand.] Let us agree, in
so many words, that we have completely recovered. Shall we?

AGNES. Perhaps mine is a more obstinate case. My enemies called me mad
years ago.

LUCAS. [With a wave of the hand.] Ah, but the future, the future. No
more thoughts of reforming unequal laws from public platforms, no more
shrieking in obscure magazines. No more beating of bare knuckles
against stone walls. Come, say it!

AGNES. [With an effort.] Go on.

LUCAS. [Looking before him--partly to himself, his voice hardening.]
I'll never be mad again--never. [Thrusting his head back.] By heavens!
[To her, in an altered tone.] You don't say it.

AGNES. [After a pause.] I--I will never be mad again.

LUCAS. [Triumphantly.] Hah! ha, ha! [She deliberately removes the shawl
from her shoulders, and, putting her arms round his neck, draws him to
her.] Ah, my dear girl!

AGNES. [In a whisper, wit