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that they lose their balance, but they quickly scramble to their feet again_). YELLOW HOSE. Your Majesty, there are no tarts there! BLUE HOSE. Your Majesty, the tarts have gone! VIOLETTA (_clasping her hands_). Gone! Oh, where could they have gone? POMPDEBILB (_coming down from throne_). That is impossible. PASTRY COOKS (_greatly excited_). You see, you see, the oven is empty as a drum. POMPDEBILE (_to_ VIOLETTA). Did you go out of this room? VIOLETTA (_wailing_). Only for a few minutes, Pompy, to powder my nose before the mirror in the pantry. (_To_ PASTRY COOKS) When one cooks one becomes so disheveled, doesn't one? But if I had thought for one little minute-- POMPDEBILE (_interrupting_). The tarts have been stolen! VIOLETTA (_with a shriek, throwing herself on a chair_). Stolen! Oh, I shall faint; help me. Oh, oh, to think that any one would take my delicious little, my dear little tarts. My salts. Oh! Oh! (PASTRY COOKS _run to the door and call._) YELLOW HOSE. Salts! Bring the Lady Violetta's salts. BLUE HOSE. The Lady Violetta has fainted! (URSULA _enters hurriedly bearing a smelling-bottle._) URSULA. Here, here--What has happened? Oh, My Lady, my sweet mistress! POMPDEBILE. Some wretch has stolen the tarts. (LADY VIOLETTA _moans._) URSULA. Bring some water. I will take off her headdress and bathe her forehead. VIOLETTA (_sitting up_). I feel better now. Where am I? What is the matter? I remember. Oh, my poor tarts! (_She buries her face in her hands._) CHANCELLOR (_suspiciously_). Your Majesty, this is very strange. URSULA (_excitedly_). I know, Your Majesty. It was the Knave. One of the Queen's women, who was walking in the garden, saw the Knave jump out of this window with a tray in his hand. It was the Knave. VIOLETTA. Oh, I don't think it was he. I don't, really. POMPDEBILE. The scoundrel. Of course it was he. We shall banish him for this or have him _beheaded._ CHANCELLOR. It should have been done long ago, Your Majesty. POMPDEBILE. You are right. CHANCELLOR. Your Majesty will never listen to me. POMPDEBILE. We _do_ listen to you. Be quiet. VIOLETTA. What are you going to do, Pompy, dear? POMPDEBILE. Herald, issue a proclamation at once. Let it be known all over the Kingdom that I desire that the Knave be brought here dead or alive. Send the royal detectives and policemen in every direction. CHANCELLOR. Excellent; just what I should have
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