GABRIEL: Not exactly. There's someone following you, my friend. Do you know it?
MESCHIA: (Not looking.) There's something behind you too.
GABRIEL: (Flourishing the clarion that is his badge of office.) Yes, He is behind me!
MESCHIA: Close, too. If you're going to blow that horn to call help, you'd better do it now.
GABRIEL: Why, how perceptive of you. But the time is not quite ripe.
MESCHIANE: I'll start a fire, and you had better begin to build us a house. It must rain often here — see how green the grass is.
MESCHIA: (Examining NOD.) Why, it's only a statue. No wonder he wasn't afraid of it.
MESCHIANE: It might come to life. I heard something once about raising sons from stones.
MESCHIA: Once! Why you were only born just now. Yesterday, I think.
MESCHIANE: Yesterday! I don't remember it... I'm such a child, Meschia. I don't remember anything until I walked out into the light and saw you talking to a sunbeam.
MESCHIA: That wasn't a sunbeam! It was... to tell the truth, I haven't thought of a name for what it was yet.
MESCHIANE: I fell in love with you then.
AUTARCH: Who are you?
MESCHIA: As far as that goes, who are you?
AUTARCH: The owner of this garden.
MESCHIA: We were speaking to one of your servants only a moment ago. Now that I come to think of it, I am astonished at how much he resembled your august Self. Save that he was... ah...
AUTARCH: Younger?
MESCHIA: In appearance, at least.
AUTARCH: Well, it is inevitable, I suppose. Not that I am attempting to excuse it now. But I was young, and though it would be better to confine oneself to women nearer one's own station, still there are times — as you would understand, young man, if you had ever been in my position — when a little maid or country girl, who can be wooed with a handful of silver or a bolt of velvet, and will not demand, at the most inconvenient moment, the death of some rival or an ambassadorship for her husband... Well, when a little person like that becomes a most enticing proposition.
JAHI: Now you see that he, whom you have esteemed your divinity, would countenance and advise all I have proposed of you. Before the New Sun rises, let us make a new beginning.
AUTARCH: Here's a lovely creature. How is it, child, that I see the bright flames of candles reflected in each eye, while your sister there still puffs cold tinder?
JAHI: She is no sister of mine!
AUTARCH: Your adversary then. But come with me. I will give these two my leave to camp here, and you shall wear a rich gown this night, and your mouth shall run with wine, and that slender figure shall be rendered a shade less graceful, perhaps, by larks stuffed with almonds and candied figs.
JAHI: Go away, old man.
AUTARCH: What! Do you know who I am?
JAHI: I am the only one here who does. You are a ghost and less, a column of ashes upheld by the wind.
AUTARCH: I see, she is mad. What does she want you to do, friend?
MESCHIA: (Relieved.) You hold no resentment toward her? That is good of you.
AUTARCH: None at all! Why, a mad mistress should be a most interesting experience — I am looking forward to it, believe me, and there are few things to look forward to when you've seen and done all I have. She doesn't bite, does she? I mean, not hard?
MESCHIANE: She does, and her fangs run with venom.
AUTARCH: I shall have my piquenaires search the garden for them.
MESCHIA: Don't worry, they'll both be back soon. You'll see. Meanwhile I am, actually, glad to have a moment alone with you like this. There are some things I've been wanting to ask you.
AUTARCH: I grant no favors after six — that's a rule I've had to make to keep my sanity. I'm sure you understand.
MESCHIA: (Somewhat taken aback.) That's good to know. But I wasn't going to ask for something, really. Only
