Guido, what think you,--does she love the King,--
I mean Lorenzo's daughter?

GUI. [Between his teeth.] Ay, she loves him.

OCT. And loves he her?

GUI. Oh, ay. He loves the moon,
The wind in the cypress trees, his mother's portrait
At seventeen, himself, his future children--
He loves her well enough. But had she blue eyes
And yellow hair, and were afraid of snakes,
He yet might love her more.

OCT. You think so, Guido?
I am content to learn you of that mind.
There had occurred to me--some time ago,
In fact--a similar fancy. And already
My daughter is well on her way home.

[Exeunt Guido and Octavia.]

[Music, Enter Beatrice and Fidelio. Fidelio strums his lute
softly throughout the next conversation, up to the words
"and cease to mock me."]

BEA. Fidelio,
Were you ever in love?

FID. I was never out of it.