Hyacinth—A key of the piano. Yes, yes . . . and what else?. . .
Alexandra—When he speaks . . . since I hurt him . . . when he speaks, his voice rings in my consciousness for a long time after. . . . Like a bell. And that hurts. I pity him so.
Hyacinth—[Concerned.] I see, my dear. Only I am afraid it is neither remorse nor pity.
Alexandra—What then?
Hyacinth—A bit of internal disorder . . . the lungs . . . the heart. . . . [Puts his ear to her chest.] Take a deep breath. Now sigh. [Alexandra sighs.] Say, "Professor."
Alexandra—[Looks at Agi.] Professor. . . .
Hyacinth—[Dryly.] The heart.
Alexandra—[Sorrowfully, reproachfully.] You are making fun of me, Hyacinth.
Hyacinth—Not at all, my child. The matter is very serious. Tell me, dear. When . . . did you begin . . . er . . . to pity him so?
Alexandra—Before. Here in this room. . . . Quite suddenly. . . . He said something
Hyacinth—What did he say?
Alexandra—[Looks at Agi.] He will remember the word.
Hyacinth—What was it, my son?
Agi—I know, father. It was when I said that I, too, was a world in myself.
