But you don’t even get to finish your avowal of “t’amo,” because you are interrupted by a voice taking the same vow. A moment of pure terror. Someone and somehow, a man in your little courtyard! You call for Giovanna, but she has disappeared. As you turn, you see that it’s your fantasy lover himself, the danger and the thrill in the flesh. And he’s coming at you with the full Latin Lover line: a heaven of pure happiness is opening to him, and two who love are a world unto themselves. He brushes aside the question of who let him in (“angel or devil, what do you care?”), as well as your recommendation that he leave. Suddenly, perhaps sensing that he’s overwhelming you, he changes course completely. Kneeling at your feet as if you were the highborn one, he launches on an extravagant chivalric declaration that spurns worldly power and glory for a love that will lift you near the angels, and that will make him the envy of all men. His presence close to you, his tender tone, his humbleness, are irresistible, and as he continues to press you, you sing to yourself that this is exactly how it had come to you in your virginal dreams. Just as you had with your father a few minutes earlier, you scatter phrased staccati above his sustained (in this instance seductive) line, now in a to-yourself sotto voce. The two of you then twine through whichever version of, or substitute for, the extended and unusual duo cadenza the composer has provided. Searching out the “why” of its route is a nice little assignment in itself; perhaps for you it comes out of your romantically intoxicated state. He asks you to repeat that you love him, and you do so. You ask for his name and, gratifyingly, after a little pause he gives you one, Gualtier Maldè, adding that he’s a student, and poor, thus bringing your fantasy to perfection.

But now, there is again an interruption. This time it’s Giovanna, clearly scared, with the news that there are footsteps just outside. With a suspiciously un-studentlike manner, Gualtier asks who the traitor is who dares disturb him. But you aren’t noticing, because you’re seized with the fear that it’s your father returning. With a frantic instruction to Giovanna about the exit on the other side of the house, you all but push Gualtier out of the courtyard. But with another quick exchange of vows, he turns to you and launches your short, fast, brilliant leavetaking duet. Here he sets the words of each brief section, and you echo them, till the two of you join, in quick fortissimo outbursts followed by virtuoso descending lines at pianissimo enlivened by cascades of crush notes, with “My feeling for you will live, unchangeable,” repeated and then topped with the passionate “Addios” of the conclusion. Suddenly, he’s gone. You’re alone. Your father hasn’t come back, and the noises in the street have passed. For both you, the character, and you, the singer, it’s like the winter Olympics event called the Biathlon, in which the competitors work their breath, their heart rates at the limit on long stretches of cross-country skiing, then must drop down with rifles and squeeze off shot groups, requiring instantaneous stability and quietude. After the wrenching emotional swings of the evening and the heightened blood of the last few minutes, you’re left to turn your thoughts inward. And there is no room for doubt left. You have found the love of your life. Your dreams have come true.