the scullery maids. Do you like that better?
Hurry, please.

KNAVE. Thank you, My Lady; it will suit me perfectly.

(_He goes out with the tarts._ VIOLETTA _listens anxiously for a
minute; then she takes her skirt between the tips of her fingers
and practises in pantomime her anticipated ride on the palfrey.
She bows, smiles, kisses her hand, until suddenly she remembers
the mule standing outside the gates of the palace. That thought
saddens her, so she curls up in_ POMPDEBILE'S _throne and cries
softly, wiping away her tears with a lace handkerchief. There is
a knock. She flies to the door and holds it shut._)

VIOLETTA (_breathlessly_). Who is there?

CHANCELLOR. It is I, Lady Violetta. The King wishes to return.

VIOLETTA (_alarmed_). Return! Does he? But the tarts are not done.
They are not done at all!

CHANCELLOR. You said they would be ready in twenty minutes. His
Majesty is impatient.

VIOLETTA. Did you play a game of checkers with him, Chancellor?

CHANCELLOR. Yes.

VIOLETTA. And did you beat him?

CHANCELLOR (_shortly_). I did not.

VIOLETTA (_laughing_). How sweet of you! Would you mind doing it
again just for me? Or would it be too great a strain on you to
keep from beating him twice in succession?

CHANCELLOR. I shall tell the King that you refuse admission.

(VIOLETTA _runs to the window to see if the_ KNAVE _is in sight. The_
CHANCELLOR _returns and knocks._)

CHANCELLOR. The King wishes to come in.

VIOLETTA. But the checkers!

CHANCELLOR. The Knights of the Checker Board have taken them
away.

VIOLETTA. But the tarts aren't done, really.

CHANCELLOR. You said twenty minutes.

VIOLETTA. No, I didn't--at least, I said twenty minutes for them
to get good and warm and another twenty minutes for them to
become brown. That makes forty--don't you remember?

CHANCELLOR. I shall carry your message to His Majesty.

(VIOLETTA _again runs to the window and peers anxiously up the
road._)

CHANCELLOR (_knocking loudly_). The King commands you to open the
door.

VIOLETTA. Commands! Tell him--Is he there--with you?

CHANCELLOR. His Majesty is at the door.

VIOLETTA. Pompy, I think you are rude, very rude indeed. I don't
see how you can be so rude--to command me, your own Violetta who
loves you so. (_She again looks in vain for the_ KNAVE.) Oh, dear!
(_Wringing her hands_) Where can he be!

POMPDEBILE (_outside_). This is nonsense. Don't you see how worried
we are? It is a complimen