With her handkerchief she again dabs his face dry. It is
taking all her self-control to hold back the tears. He needs me now,
she tells herself urgently and repeatedly; he needs me, I must be
strong for him! Taking his hand, she strokes it tenderly.
But Antonio seems to have slipped into another world,
somewhere where her words and gestures no longer reach him. He
is trying to shut himself off from all external noise, to make room
in his head for his own music. Soon he can hear it, echoing back to
him from the past as powerfully as ever, sending its pulses of
energy into every fibre of his being. He opens his eyes and is
relieved to see Paolina beside him. He does not want to be alone
now; he does not want to be without her! He regrets having been so
irritable with her. She is right; perhaps they had better go home.
Exhausted, he closes his eyes again. In mounting dread, Paolina
prays, ‘Mother Maria, is there is no way of saving him?’ The door
opens suddenly, and his father enters. At ease and smiling,
Giambattista walks up to the bed.
‘FATHER! How happy I am to see you again! You are not a
moment too soon, for I am just putting the finishing touches to a
new opera, written specially for Maria Theresa. This work will be
the best I have ever produced, father. The most scintillating arias
and the most exquisite ballet. Ah, I see it all before me, I feel the
wonder already…’
Giambattista sits down beside him and puts his arm
protectively about Antonio’s shoulders.
‘All is well, my son. All is well.’
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