The Marshal (_rising_).
Madam, forgive me! In the fight a sudden fainting fit overcame me.
The Marquis in Pale Blue.
(_Pointing at_ The Painter's _sword lying on the floor_.) And what is
this blood? (_Movement by_ The Painter.)
The Marshal.
Until the return to my senses relieved me (_with emphasis_) of _this_
trouble and _another_ trouble.
The Queen.
(_Quickly collecting herself. Sharply_.) My congratulations, sir! And
my sympathy as well! What has happened to you gives me unspeakable
distress. The court atmosphere is indeed rather close, and seems
insupportable to great conquerors; which often betrays itself in wrong
fancies and swoons. Therefore I am obliged to exercise my power as
Queen, and protect your good health against danger. Jean, announce me
to his Majesty! (_Exit_ Jean _on the left_. The Queen, _punishing_ The
Painter _with a glance of unspeakable scorn, follows slowly. The two
Maids of Honour go after her_.)
_NINTH SCENE_.
THE MARSHAL. THE PAINTER. THE MARQUISES (_in the background_).
The Marshal.
I thank you, sir! The mists are dissipated. The eye sees clearly once
more; the will has a free hand.
The Painter.
But I was silently executed. Did you notice her look?
The Marshal (_pointing at_ The Marquises).
Of looks, there are sufficient.
The Painter (_snatching up his sword_).
Oho! I am always expecting foul play.
The Marshal.
For what reason? Get along with you! Get along with you! Be quick!
The Painter.
It is true. You are right. Here, we are ruined.
The Marshal.
And what is to become of you?
The Painter.
That has never troubled me. The world is wide. One can walk about it,
and find something to sketch by the way.
The Marshal.
How would it be if you went with me?
The Painter.
Where?
The Marshal.
To the camp.
The Painter.
Yes, and what is there?
The Marshal.
Plenty for you! You will find gay fare, and pastimes and diversions. As
much as you want.
The Painter.
And are there fights too?
The Marshal.
Indeed, there are!
The Painter.
And will there be a bold reconnoissance by night?
The Marshal.
Often.
The Painter.
Capital! I will ride with you. In my mind's eye I see already golden
moonrise, and silver vapour on the dark alder bush.... Are there also
songs and notes of the mandolin?
The Marshal.
Plenty of them!
The Painter.
Hurrah! There is music too!
The Marshal.
And in the story-telling by night at the camp-fire many a tale of human
destiny will be unfolded to you.
The Painter.
A world of pictures! (_More softly_.) And love adventures?
The Marshal.