(_Pointing at the lady asleep_.) Pluck her by the sleeve.

The Marquis in Pale Blue.

Fraulein, allow me?

The Sleepy Maid Of Honour.

(_Springs up with a little cry, makes a low curtsey to_ The Marquis, _which he returns in kind, then follows the other ladies_.)

_SECOND SCENE_.

THE MARQUISES. THE PAINTER.

(The Painter _paints, without noticing the others, then takes a b.u.t.tered roll from his pocket and eats_.)

The Marquis In Pink.

Ha, now I am going to kill him!

The Marquis in Pale Blue.

Don't you know it is forbidden? The punishment would be severe. They say, too, that he wields a keen blade, and before you know it you are dead as a mouse.

The Marquis In Pink.

I am surprised at that. Yet whether we love or hate him, one thing is as clear to me as day: he must not be allowed to quit this palace alive.

Another Marquis.

Pardon me, Marquis, why not?

The Marquis In Pink.

You don't see deeply into this, Marquis. It seems almost as if you were a simpleton. Has she not mocked us, and exclaimed at our cooing, rustling, sweet speaking, and whimpering? Yet she delights to have him paint her; and as a reward, she loves him.

The Second Marquis.

Ha, terrible!

The Third Marquis.

Who told you that?

The Marquis in Pale Blue.

Have pity on us, friend, and give us proofs!

The Marquis In Pink.

Well, his Majesty (_all bow_) is, alas, well on in years! (_All a.s.sent sorrowfully_.) Whom else does she love? There must at any rate be some one!

The Marquis in Pale Blue.

For G.o.d's sake, be prudent and speak softly!

The Marquis In Pink.

What is he doing there?

The Second Marquis.

He is eating.

The Marquis In Pink.

Fie, how vulgar!

The Marquis in Pale Blue.

What will happen to the Marshal?

The Marquis In Pink.

That seems to me doubtful. Sometimes she is pleasant with him, sometimes ill-humoured. I have tried to get rid of him, but he still stays by me. He causes me the pangs of jealousy. She must love one of us. We are here for that purpose. Yet inasmuch as this wandering fellow has stolen her heart, he must die--and that on the spot.

The Marquis in Pale Blue.

Patience, Marquis, patience! Of all the means of shaking off this insolent fellow, there is one which is really exquisite. Without breaking the laws, if we set the Marshal on him, instead of being disturbers of the peace, we shall escape scot-free. He dies, of course, and it would be a wonder--yet what am I saying?--He is already as good as a dead sparrow.

(_All chuckle_.)

The Marquis In Pink.

Dead sparrow is excellent!

The Marquis in Pale Blue.

This murder--listen--is bound to put the other one into disfavour. The King's Majesty (_all bow_) will shorten his leave of absence, and we, we shall be freed of him.

(_All chuckle_.)

The Painter.

What are they about? Alas, if they are glad, perhaps that means the ruin of some man of honour. Perhaps they are meditating some ribaldry.

But in truth, what matters to me this vermin?

The Marquis in Pale Blue.