Courtiers.  God save you, madam!

[They go out, leaving the Regent alone.]

Regent (she loosens the clasp of her robe). Some thoughts
—­some thoughts—­
                    Fall from me, envious robe! 
    Rest there, my crown—­thou more than leaden ache! 
      Ah!—­
    God!  What a mountain drops!  I float—­I am lifted
    Like thistledown on nothing.  Back, my crown—­
    Weight me to earth!  Nay, nay, thy rim shall bite
    No more upon this forehead ...  Where’s my glass? 
    O mirror, mirror, hath it bit so deep? 
    My love is coming, hark!  O, say not grey,
Sweet mirror!  Tell, what time to cure it now? 
    And he so near, so near! 
                    How shall I meet him? 
    Why how but as the river leaps to sea,
    Steel to its magnet, child to mother’s arms?

  [She catches up flowers from the baskets left by the
    courtiers, and decks herself mildly.

    Flowers for my hair, flowers at the breast!  Sweet flowers,
    He’ll crush you ’gainst his corslet.  He has arms
    Like bands of iron for clasping, has my love. 
    He’ll hurt, he’ll hurt ...  But oh, sweet flowers, to lie
    And feel you helpless while he grips and bruises
    Your weak protesting breasts!  You’ll die in bliss,
    Panting your fragrance out.—­
                        Wh’st!  Hush, poor fool! 
    I have unlearned love’s very alphabet. 
    Men like us coy, demure ...  Then I’ll coquet
And play Madam Disdain—­but not to-day. 
    To-morrow I’ll be shrewish, shy, perverse,
    Exacting, cold—­all April in my moods: 
    We’ll walk the forest, and I’ll slip from him,
    Hide me like Dryad ’mid the oaks, and mark
    His hot dark face pursuing; or I’ll couch
    In covert green, and hold my breath to hear
    His blundering foot go by; then up I’ll leap,
    And run—­and he’ll run after.  O this lightness! 
    I’ll draw him like a fairy, dance and double—­
    Yet not so fast but he shall overtake
    At length, and catch me panting.  O, I charge you,
    I charge you, daughters of Jerusalem,
    Wake not my love beneath the forest bough
    Where we lie dreaming!

[Fanfare of trumpets in the distance.]

Trumpets, hark! and drums! 
They have landed!  From the quay they march! 
Flowers! flowers! 
They are near ...  I see him!...  Carlo! lord and love! 
He looks—­waves—­O ’tis he!  O foolish heart!—­
I had feared he’d ta’en a wound. 
What is’t they shout? 
Eh?  ’Victory!’—­yes, yes.  He’s browner, thinner;
And the dear eyes, how gaunt!...  Yes
‘Victory!’
‘Victory!’ ... lord, and love!,..

[The shouts of acclamation are heard now close under the terrace.  Spears and banners are seen trooping past.  Beside herself, she throws flowers to them, laughing, weeping the while.  Then, running to the Chapel door, she prostrates herself before the image of the Virgin that crowns its archway.]