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 what is taking place in a man's heart. We must perforce believe your eyes, and the loveliest, Fabiano, are sometimes the most false. But in your eyes there is such a store of loyalty and sincerity and good faith, that they cannot lie,—is it not so? Yes, your glance is ingenuous and sincere, my comely page. Oh! to assume a celestial expression the better to deceive—that would be infernal. Either your eyes are an angel's eyes, or they are a devil's.

Fabiani.Neither angel nor devil, but a man who loves you.

The Queen.Who loves the Queen.

Fabiani.Who loves Mary.

The Queen.Hark ye, Fabiano, I love you, too. You are young. There are many beautiful women who look sweetly upon you, I know. After a time one wearies of a queen as of another woman.—Do not interrupt me.—If ever you become enamoured of another woman, I wish you to tell me. I will forgive you, it may be, if you tell me.—Do not interrupt me.—You do not know to what point I love you. I do not know myself. There are moments, it is true, when I should prefer to have you dead, than happy with another; but there are moments, too, when I should prefer to have you happy. Great Heaven! I know not why people should seek to cast upon me the reputation of a wicked woman.

Fabiani.I can be happy only with you, Mary. I love none but you.

The Queen.Surely? Look at me. Surely? Oh! I am jealous at times. I imagine—what woman has not such ideas?—I imagine sometimes that you are false to me. I would like to be invisible, so that I might follow you and always know where you are, what you are saying, what you are