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Exact.
THIRD MASK..
But doubtful taste.
THE USHER.
The comedy's begun!
f.a.n.n.y.
[_To the_ DUKE.]
I'm back again. The Countess understands.
FLAMBEAU.
[_To_ THERESA.]
Will you accept a veteran's arm?
THERESA.
No.
FLAMBEAU.
Why?
THERESA.
I'm leaving, sir. Apart from that, I'm French, And see no humor in a parody Of heroes whom by chance you conquered.
FLAMBEAU.
You-- Ah! I adore you!
[_She runs away. Just as she is disappearing the_ DUKE _makes a movement toward her._]
THE DUKE.
Ah!--the tryst.
THERESA.
The tryst--?
THE DUKE.
No--nothing.
[THERESA _pa.s.ses on._]
She must keep it. She must show Whether she would have been sublimely weak, And given herself unthinking--without hope-- Only because she saw me sad to-night.
f.a.n.n.y.
[_To_ FLAMBEAU.]
Watch where they've got to in the comedy.
[FLAMBEAU _goes to the entrance of the theatre._]
[_To the_ DUKE.]
The time has come.
FLAMBEAU.
All eyes are running over With grief for Stanislas, the mournful Pole.
f.a.n.n.y.
Here is the Countess, Duke.
THE DUKE.
My very image!
I'm coming toward myself as in a gla.s.s.
[_The_ COUNTESS CAMERATA _enters, dressed exactly like the_ DUKE, _with the exception of her cloak, which is brown._]
THE COUNTESS.
Well met, Napoleon!
THE DUKE.
And Napoleone!
THE COUNTESS.
I'm very calm--and you?
THE DUKE.
I see the risks You'll run for my sake.
