Zaida. Nunu is bad; he is all bad now. I loved him before and Donina wasn't jealous. She knew it was on her account—it was just from the heart, I was like their sister; Donina knows that. But Nunu is changed now. He doesn't want to play and sing and laugh any more, and he always used to be happy. And when he was happy, everybody about him was smiling.
Donina. Yes, they were. We were so happy!
Zaida. We used to spend hours by ourselves, laughing and singing and dancing, just for the joy of it, for our own sakes, without ever getting tired or stopping to think that we would have to sing and dance all night long in the theatre.
Donina. We were so happy!
Zaida. And we would have been happy always, just the three of us!
Donina. It's those men, those terrible men—that Prince who is so pale that he freezes your blood with his eye.
Imperia. Yes, the Prince! I know him. His only pleasure is to torture and defile.
Donina. But I'll go to-night. He wants me to.
Imperia. No, anything rather than that. Go with the man you love, who is one with you, to whom you have given your heart, live as he lives, share his sorrows, his joys, let nothing hold you back; but the Prince—never go near that man! Nothing can come from him but evil, degradation, and shame. The women he loves he dresses in rags—he maltreats them without mercy. His friends are miserable wretches whom his money can buy, and there is no depravity he does not know. He gives young girls to old men, unutterably vile; strong, healthy boys to women who are loathsome and diseased. He buys daughters from their parents, sisters from their brothers for his holidays. I have seen him run through the streets in Suavia at midnight, when it was bitter cold and the ground was covered with ice, and gather up the
