Of course not.

Shake hands before we cut each other's throats.

THE ATTACHe.

If you have any messages for Paris, I get there on the fourth; I should be happy--

THE DUKE.

I hope to be there, sir, ahead of you.

THE ATTACHe.

Yet, if I reach the--kingdom--ere you come?

THE DUKE.

Salute for me the Column of Vendome!

CURTAIN.

[Ill.u.s.tration]

[Ill.u.s.tration]

THE FIFTH ACT

_The battle-field of Wagram. Night. A small hill running off toward the left. A sign-post stands on the hill._

_The_ DUKE _is standing on the summit of the hill gazing across the battle-field_. PROKESCH _and_ FLAMBEAU _are talking together in undertones near the front._

FLAMBEAU.

WAGRAM!

THE DUKE.

[_Dreaming._]

"My son shall reign--a mighty sovereign--"

FLAMBEAU.

Capital bit of country for the harvest.

THE DUKE.

"His task to foster whatsoe'er is good."

FLAMBEAU.

What solemn prayer is he reciting?

PROKESCH.

Hush!

THE DUKE.

"Complete my work, and not avenge my death-- All patriots--"

[_To_ PROKESCH.]

The horses?

PROKESCH.

No, not yet.

THE DUKE.

"He would but ape me, if he made great wars--"

PROKESCH.

He is rehearsing all his Father's counsels.

FLAMBEAU.

Hush!

THE DUKE.

"He shall scorn all parties--"

[_To_ PROKESCH.]

Well? The horses.

PROKESCH.

Too soon, my Lord.

THE DUKE.