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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.
Hus.h.!.+
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.
Hus.h.!.+
THE DUKE.
"He shall scorn all parties--"
[_To_ PROKESCH.]
Well? The horses.
PROKESCH.
Too soon, my Lord.
THE DUKE.
