Dias stubbornly kept wiping his eyes with his sleeve in spite of Selvan’s tacitly offered handkerchief. At least he wasn’t audibly sobbing, so Selvan figured none of the other audience members were likely to notice. Having a private box in the opera had its advantages, even when you weren’t present at the occasion out of your own free will. But Protea had insisted, and sometimes it was not wise to refuse.

The music swelled once more for a brief scene where the lovers were dramatically reunited, only for it to turn out it was all the tragic heroine’s imagination during her harsh, prolonged imprisonment and this time Dias angrily tore the handkerchief out of Selvan’s hand.

Selvan chose not to say anything, but the unspoken "So the high colonel of the kingdom of Granorg can be moved to tears by one of Protea’s melodramatic opera productions" hung in the air between them. Dias seemed more angry at himself than at Selvan’s insulting tactfulness. Selvan in the meantime decided he liked the tragic ones better than the ones that consisted of the heroine taking rightful revenge on all who had wronged her over the course of an impossibly long three hours. At least this one didn’t have Protea on the stage herself. Otherwise, Dias would never recover his dignity and Selvan would be left having to do their political scheming on his own.

While the rest of the audience was busy clapping and screaming for an encore, Selvan led Dias to a dark back corner of their box where nobody was likely to see them. He kissed the corner of Dias’ eye, scratched and reddened more from the furious wiping of the tears than the actual crying. He looked at Dias thoughtfully.