this . . . but first I want the professor to forgive me.
Agi—How can I forgive you?
Hyacinth—Silence! There, there, I forgive you for him, my dear. [Alexandra dries her tears.] Have your cry out, and don't worry about it.
Alexandra—That's not why I am crying, Hyacinth.
Hyacinth—Why, then?
Alexandra—Because I . . . am sorry . . . for him.
Agi—You needn't be sorry for me.
Hyacinth—[Mildly.] You are not to speak now, my son.
Alexandra—I have never been as sorry for anyone. . . .
Hyacinth—And when he looks at you, you are sorrier for him than ever.
Alexandra—[Looks at Agi.] When he looks at me, his eyes scorch my face . . . just as when you open the door of a stove
Hyacinth—Yes, yes. The door of a stove. And what then?
Alexandra—[In child-like surprise.] And then . . . then . . . his glance seems to enter my breast . . . and touch . . . my heart . . . just as you touch a key of the piano with one finger . . . very softly.
