DONNA MATILDA (with decision but trembling). I am
perfectly certain he recognized me!

DOCTOR. It's not possible . . . it's not possible!

BELCREDI (at the same time). Of course not!

DONNA MATILDA (more than ever determined, almost
convulsively). I tell you, he recognized me! When he came
close up to speak to me--looking in my eyes, right into my
eyes--he recognized me!

BELCREDI. But he was talking of your daughter!

DONNA MATILDA. That's not true! He was talking of
me! Of me!

BELCREDI. Yes, perhaps, when he said . . .

DONNA MATILDA (letting herself go). About my dyed
hair! But didn't you notice that he added at once: "or the
memory of your dark hair, if you were dark"? He remem-
bered perfectly well that I was dark--then!

BELCREDI. Nonsensel nonsense!

DONNA MATILDA (not listening to him, turning to the
doctor). My hair, doctor, is really dark--like my daugh-
ter's! That's why he spoke of her.

BELCREDI. But he doesn't even know your daughter!
He's never seen her!

DONNA MATILDA. Exactly! Oh, you never understand
anything! By my daughter, stupid, he meant me--as I was
then!

BELCREDI. Oh, this is catching! This is catching, this
madness!

DONNA MATILDA (softly, with contempt). Fool!

BIELCREDI. Excuse me, were you ever his wife? Your
daughter is his wife--in his delirium: Bertha of Susa.

DONNA MATILDA. Exactly! Because I, no longer dark
--as he remembered me--but fair, introduced myself as
"Adelaide," the mother. My daughter doesn't exist for him:

-112-