by him in a wonderment intensified by the beauty of the blind
girl, walks over to the mountebank._]

PRINCE [_arrogantly_]

Who are you all? What are you doing here?

[_Instead of answering, the mountebank hastily puts his flute
into his pocket and executes a handspring, the third taking him
altogether behind the scene, while from the front of the
cavalcade, comes a high, cracked voice in answer to the PRINCE'S
question._]

A VOICE

We are players, your Highness, mountebanks commanded for the pleasure
of the Queen.

[_The DUCHESS has grown very white and is standing with her hand
pressing her heart._]

DUCHESS

What was that tune he played upon his flute, and what dreadful thing
was the matter with him?

PRINCE

I do not know, but as she walked by her face was beautiful. It was
like a prayer coming into the presence of God.

DUCHESS [_regarding the PRINCE sharply_]

Really? What can be speaking in you? Surely not yourself?

[_She laughs shrilly and exits. The flute continues to play. The
PRINCE absorbed, unheeding her departure, stands looking after
the mountebanks._]

_CURTAIN_

SCENE 2

[_In the palace grounds at night. Lanterns are suspended
everywhere from the trees. The front of the players' cart is seen
protruding up-stage left. The philosopher is seated on the steps
of the car smoking a pipe. The blind girl with strange, tentative
footsteps and feeling hands is busy with duties around the
cart._]

DEA

Think of it; we are in the park of the Queen, and these lilies
and roses are brushed every day by the silken stir of her
ladies-in-waiting.

URSUS

Well, I do not feel much elated at being here. An ambition gained
is an ambition lost, and I am too old to have many ambitions.

DEA

It is wonderful to be in the park of the Queen--to think that the
shade of these same trees darkens her jewels at midday, and that
through them is cast over her a shawl of glittering ribbons upon
moonlight nights.

URSUS [_patting her shoulder and smiling_]

Joy makes poets out of all of us. [_Half to himself_] But it is only a
poet who can sing in the clutches of death and pain.

DEA [_very thoughtfully_]

Yet underneath all my joy I am thinking hard tonight of the beginning
of things. I wonder, I wonder is it because I am nearing the end of
things.

URSUS

Dea, dearest, you are not ill tonight? You hav