SCENE IV
Roxane alone. Two Sisters, for a moment.
Roxane.
Ah! what a beauty in September's close!
My sorrow's eased. April's joy dazzled it,
But autumn wins it with her dying calm.
There comes the famous arm-chair, where he sits,
Dear faithful friend!
Sister Martha.
It is the parlour's best!
Roxane.
Thanks, sister.
[The Sisters go.]
He'll be here now.
[She seats herself. A clock strikes.]
The hour strikes.
—My silks?—Why, now, the hour's struck! How strange
To be behind his time, at last, to-day!
Perhaps the portress—where's my thimble?—Here!
—Is preaching to him.
[A pause.]
Yes, she must be preaching!
Surely he must come soon!—Ah! a dead leaf!—
[She brushes off the leaf from her work.]
Nothing, besides, could—scissors?—In my bag!
—Could hinder him…
