Etelvina. Justly so. Yet during these last years, they have hesitated at nothing to discredit my son.
Duke. What constitution at his age could support this continual liquidation?
Prince Michael. If Florencio had been otherwise—pardon, I do not wish to distress you—he is your son, and I know how you love him. But Florencio's conduct
Etelvina. What can you tell me that I do not already know? I have shed too many tears. But now his health distresses me. I have brought him here to recuperate.
Prince Michael. Here? You arrived two days ago, and already the Prefect has advised me that he is frequenting objectionable resorts.
Etelvina. Great heaven!
Prince Michael. The Prefect is a man of the world; everybody calls him the Signore. He is paid handsomely to keep the peace, and throw an air of respectability over this petty principality, which is a cosmopolis and Mecca of all the idlers of the earth.
Etelvina. Do you tell me that Florencio…?
Prince Michael. There is no cause for alarm. The Signore has detailed special agents to watch him; they will protect him should occasion arise. Nevertheless, it is deplorable.
Etelvina. Yes, it is. You sympathize with me. Nothing remained but that he should form an intimacy with this Lucenti, this poet, half-English, half-Italian, a man utterly without moral sense. Lord and Lady Seymour were scandalized to meet him here.
Prince Michael. Is it possible? But I thought… pardon a moment. I noticed, my lady, that you appeared to be somewhat shocked by the presence of Harry Lucenti.
Lady Seymour. Really, nobody receives that man.
