What white thing marching through the dawning day?

The Austrian Infantry!

[_Beside himself, and urging along imaginary Grenadiers_.]

Ha! Up! and at them!

The enemy!--Fall on them!---Crush them!

Follow on! Follow on! We'll pa.s.s across their bodies!

[_With his sword high he rushes at the first ranks of an Austrian regiment which appears on the road._]

AN OFFICER.

[_Throwing himself on the_ DUKE _and stopping him._]

For G.o.d's sake. Prince!--This is your regiment!

THE DUKE.

[_As if awakening._]

Ah--? This is my--?

[_He falls back; pa.s.ses his hand across his forehead, and gazes wildly at the white soldiers who march past to the sound of the fife. He sees his destiny, and accepts it. The arm he had raised for the charge sinks slowly, his fist falls on his hip; his sword falls into the regulation position, and, stiff as an automaton, with a toneless and mechanical voice, the voice of an Austrian officer, he cries:_]

Halt! Front turn! Eyes right!

THE CURTAIN FALLS AS THE DRILL BEGINS.

[Ill.u.s.tration: large N with a crown above]

[Ill.u.s.tration]

THE SIXTH ACT

_The_ DUKE'S _bedroom at Schonbrunn. The walls are covered with Gobelin tapestry. Through folding-doors on the left there is a glimpse of the china-cabinet. There are also folding-doors on the right and in the centre. Empire furniture. A little camp-bedstead stands almost in the middle of the room. Many bunches of violets are scattered about._

_The_ DUKE _is discovered buried in a deep arm-chair, his fingers idly toying with a large bunch of violets. The_ ARCHd.u.c.h.eSS _is offering him a gla.s.s of milk._ DOCTOR MALFATTI _is seated at the back of the room._

THE DUKE.

Again? Well, there, then.

THE ARCHd.u.c.h.eSS.

No, you've left a little.

THE DUKE.

You?--Why, I thought you ill!

THE ARCHd.u.c.h.eSS.

They've let me come.

Thank heaven!--And you?

THE DUKE.

Why, if you leave your sick-bed I must be worse indeed.

THE ARCHd.u.c.h.eSS.

Come, now, that's nonsense!

You know you're better.

[_She examines the cup the_ DUKE _hands her._]

There, that's finished.

_She calls the_ DOCTOR, _who has been seated at the back of the room._]

His Highness drank his milk.

THE DOCTOR.

I'm very glad.

THE ARCHd.u.c.h.eSS.

How good it was of him!

THE DOCTOR.

How good!

THE DUKE.

How hard-- When I had dreamed of history's reward, And when ambition seared my soul--How hard, To be content with praise for drinking milk!

[_To the violets on his pillow._]

Oh, ball of freshness laid upon my fever.

Dear flowers that bring the Spring into my room--!