esca and Fidelio, Laura embroidering,
Fidelio strumming his flute, Francesca lost in thought.]

LAURA. You,--Fool! If there be two chords to your lute,
Give us the other for a time!

FRANCESCA. And yet, Laura,
I somewhat fancied that soft sound he made.
'Twas all on the same tone,--but 'twas a sweet tone.

LAURA. 'Tis like you. As for myself, let music change
From time to time, or have done altogether.
Sing us the song, Fidelio, that you made
Last night,--a song of flowers, and fair skies,
And nightingales, and love.

FIDELIO. I know the song.
It is a song of winter.

LAURA. How is that?

FIDELIO. Because it is a song of summer set
To a sad tune.

FRANCESCA. [Sadly] Ah, well,--so that it be not
A song of autumn, I can bear to hear it.

LAURA. In any case, music. I am in a mood for music.
I am in a mood where if something be not done
To startle me, I shall confess my sins.

[Enter Carlotta.]

CARLOTTA. Ha! I will have that woman yet by the hair!

LAURA. What woman, pray, Carlotta?

CAR. Ho! What woman!
Who but that scullery-wench, that onion-monger,
That slatternly, pale bakress, that foul witch,
The coroneted Fish-Wife of Fiori,
Her Majesty, the Queen!

FRA. Hush--hush--Carlotta!
You could be put to death for less than that!

CAR. Not I, my duck. When I am put to death
'Twill be for more! Oh, I will have her yet
By the hair! [For the first time noticing Fidelio.]
Fidelio, if you breathe one word
Of this, I will scratch the Princess into ribbons,
Whom you love better than your wit.

FID. I' faith,
I did but hear you say you are a fish-wife,
And all the world knows that.

LAU. Fear not, Carlotta,
He is as dumb as a prophet. Every second word
He utters, eats the one before it. Speak,
But softly.

CAR. Nay,'tis nothing.--Nay, by my head,
It is a townful! 'Tis the way she has
Of saying "that should be done like this, and this
Like that!" The woman stirs me to that point
I feel like a carrot in a stew,--I boil so
I bump the kettle on all sides!

LAU. My dear,
Were you as plump as I you would not dare
Become so angry. It would make your stays creak.

CAR. Well, I am done. Fidelio, play me a dirge
To put me in good spirits. Merry music
Is sure to make me sad.

[Fidelio plays. Pause.]

CAR. 'Tis curious
A woman like her should have a child like that--
So