ing about, she reaches the table and deposits the candlestick.)

RUD. What a nuisance! (He finds himself near the door and fastens it.)

MIMI. I'm so sorry.

RUD. Where can it be?

MIMI. You have an importunate neighbor,
Pray, forgive your tiresome little neighbor.

RUD. Nothing, I assure you.

MIMI. Pray, forgive your tiresome neighbor.

RUD. Do not mention it, I pray you.

MIMI. Look for it.

RUD. I'm looking.

(Looks for the key on the floor; sliding over it, he knocks against
the table, deposits his candlestick, and searches for the key with his
hands on the floor.)

MIMI. Where can it be?

(Finds the key, lets an exclamation escape, then checks himself and
puts the key in his pocket.)

RUD. Ah!

MIMI. Have you found it?

RUD. No.

MIMI. I think so.

RUD. In very truth.

MIMI. Found it?

RUD. Not yet.

(Feigns to search, but guided by Mimi'S voice and movements,
approaches her; as Mimi is stooping his hand meets hers, which he
clasps.)

MIMI. (rising to her feet, surprised) Ah!

RUD. (holding Mimi's hand, with emotion)
Your tiny hand is frozen,
Let me warm it into life;
Our search is useless,
In darkness all is hidden,
'Ere long the light of the moon shall aid us,
Yes, in the moonlight our search let us resume.
One moment, pretty maiden,
While I tell you in a trice,
Who I am, what I do,
And how I live. Shall I?

(Mimi is silent.)

I am, I am a poet!
What's my employment? Writing.
Is that a living? Hardly.
I've wit though wealth be wanting,
Ladies of rank and fashion
All inspire me with passion;
In dreams and fond illusions,
Or castles in the air,
Richer is none on earth than I.

Bright eyes as yours, believe me,
Steal my priceless jewels,
In fancy's store-house cherished,
Your roguish eyes have robbed me,
Of all my dreams bereft me,
Dreams that are fair, yet fleeting.
Fled are my truant fancies,
Regrets I do not cherish,
For now life's rosy morn is breaking,
Now golden love is waking.
Now that I've told my story,
Pray tell me yours, too;
Tell me frankly, who are you?
Say, will you tell?

MIMI. (_after some hesitation_)
They call me Mimi
But my name is Lucia;
My story is a short one--
Fine satin stuffs or silk
I deftly embroider;
I am content and happy;
The rose and lily I make for pastime.
These flowers give me pleasure
As in magical accents
They speak to me of love,
Of beauteous springtime.
Of fancies and of visions bright they tell me,
Such as poets,