You calmly cross the Rosa chamber Unchallenged by the sentinel on guard!

METTERNICH.

What?

FLAMBEAU.

When you ventured through the small rotunda, Was there no yatagan to shave your cheek?

Were there no sergeants in the white saloon Brewing their punch upon the golden stove?

No bristling veterans in the china-room?

And in the galleries? The Grenadiers Saw you come strolling as a matter-of-course?

A man may cross the oval cabinet And not be turned to mince-meat by Duroc?

METTERNICH.

The Marshal--?

FLAMBEAU.

Is the bulldog turned to lapdog?

METTERNICH.

I come here--

FLAMBEAU.

So the palace is an inn?

And when you'd managed all the sentinels, Where were the rest? The porter? Gone to bed?

The valet? Absent? And the secretary?

Where was he hidden? In his own portfolio?

METTERNICH.

But I--

FLAMBEAU.

Instead of being after you, No doubt the Aide-de-Camp was after women!

METTERNICH.

But--

FLAMBEAU.

And the Moor was saying prayers to Allah?

At any rate it's lucky I was here.

What discipline! If he looks into this I'll bet my head he'll let the beggars know!

METTERNICH.

I'm going--

FLAMBEAU.

Ah! don't stir! You'll wake him!

He's sleeping on his little bed of laurels.

METTERNICH.

[_Falling into an arm-chair._]

Was never such a dream! 'Twill make an epic!

[_His hand touches the flame of one of the candles._]

Well, but this candle--

FLAMBEAU.

Burns.

METTERNICH.

[_Feeling the point of_ FLAMBEAU'S _bayonet._]

This weapon--

FLAMBEAU.

Stings!

METTERNICH.

Then I'm awake! I'm--

FLAMBEAU.

Hold your tongue!

METTERNICH.

And what of Waterloo?

FLAMBEAU.

Of water--what?