Valet.
Your Majesty!
(The Queen _rustles over from the left to the right, without bestowing
a glance on the two men. At the door on the right she gives the_ Valet
_a scroll with which he advances. Then she goes out, followed by the
Maids of Honour_.)
The Marshal.
Now the hastily contrived reward of our misdeeds is at hand. (_To_
Jean.) My noble sir, bestir yourself. (_To_ The Painter.) That is the
handsome Jean as an angel of justice! (_He unfolds the scroll and
reads, laughing_.)
The Painter.
And to me, what do you bring to me?
The Valet.
(_With an expression of awkward contempt_.) You?--Nothing!
The Painter.
Exquisite!
The Valet.
But yes! Your reward shall be meted out to you in the office of the
Marshal of the court.
The Painter (_amused_).
Indeed?
The Valet.
Yes! (_Behind the scenes on the right are heard cries of "Jean!
Jean!"_)
The Deaf Maid of Honour.
(_Hurries in from the right_.) Jean! Have you forgotten her Majesty?
The Valet (_sweetly_).
Oh, no! Tell her Majesty I am coming directly.
The Painter and The Marshal.
(_Look at each other, and break out into laughter_.)
The Marshal.
Look, look, my friend! He seems to have got into bad habits.
The Painter (_pointing at him_).
It is rightly so. I had almost begged him, at the court where we men
are forbidden, proudly to represent the eternal masculine. (_Laughing,
they both bow to him_.)
(_Exit_ The Valet.)
The Painter.
But we are going into the flowery open, to our merry pursuits.
The Marshal.
And to combat! (_They walk arm in arm, bowing right and left, toward
the door, past_ The Marquises, _who, without hiding their disrespect,
nevertheless recognise them in a not uncourtly fashion_.)
Curtain.