in the dance as winged-foot Mercury,
Eloquent on the zither, and a master
Of rapier and--

MARIA.
A puppet could be made
To answer in all points your praise of him.
Hath he no substance as of a man?

ANNICCA.
Why, sister,
What may that be to us?

MARIA.
He is our Prince.

ANNICCA.
The promise of his youth is to outstrip
The hero of Lepanto; bright and bold
As fire, he is the very soul, the star
Of Spanish chivalry; his last achievement
Seems still the flower of his accomplishments.
Musician, soldier, courtier, yea, and artist.
"He had been a painter, were he not a prince,"
Says Messer Zurbaran. The Calderona,
His actress-mother, hath bequeathed to him
Her spirit with her beauty, and the power
To win and hold men's hearts.

MARIA.
I knew it, sister!
His eye hath a command in it; his brow
Seems garlanded with laurel.

ANNICCA.
What is this?
You kindle with his praise, your whole heart glows
In light and color on your face, your words
Take wing and fly as bold as reckless birds.
What! can so rash a thought, a dream so wild,
So hopeless an ambition, tempt your soul?

MARIA.
Pray you, what thought, what dream, and what ambition?
I knew not I had uttered any such.

ANNICCA.
Nor have you in your speech; your eyes now veiled,
Where the light leaped to hear me voice his fame,
Your blushes and your pallor have betrayed
That which should lie uncounted fathom deep--
The secret of a woman's foolish heart.

MARIA.
And there it lies, my sibyl sister, still!
Your plummet hath not reached it. Yes, 't is love
Flaunts his triumphant colors in my cheek,
And quickens my lame speech--but not for him,
Not for the Prince--so may I vaunt his worth
With a free soul.

ANNICCA.
Say on.

MARIA.
A gentleman,
Favored of earth and heaven, true and loving,
Hath cast his heart at my imperial feet;
And if to-morrow find me as to-day,
I will e'en stoop and raise it to mine own.

ANNICCA.
Signor Vitruvio?

MARIA.
Not he, indeed!
Did not I say favored of earth and heaven?
That should mean other gifts than