[They seize him by the
shoulders and drag him up.] Yah! Agh! Wow! Oh! Mmmmmm! Oh, Little Angel
Mother, don't ever do this to a man again. Knout him; kill him; roast
him; baste him; head, hang, and quarter him; but don't tie him up like
that and tickle him.

CATHERINE. Your young lady still seems to think that you enjoyed it.

CLAIRE. I know what I think. I will never speak to him again. Your
Majesty can keep him, as far as I am concerned.

CATHERINE. I would not deprive you of him for worlds; though really I
think he's rather a darling [she pats his cheek].

CLAIRE [snorting]. So I see, indeed.

EDSTASTON. Don't be angry, dearest: in this country everybody's a
darling. I'll prove it to you. [To Catherine.] Will your Majesty be good
enough to call Prince Patiomkin?

CATHERINE [surprised into haughtiness]. Why?

EDSTASTON. To oblige me.

Catherine laughs good-humoredly and goes to the curtains and opens them.
The band strikes up a Redowa.

CATHERINE [calling imperiously]. Patiomkin! [The music stops suddenly.]
Here! To me! Go on with your music there, you fools. [The Redowa is
resumed.]

The sergeant rushes from the ballroom to relieve the Empress of the
curtain. Patiomkin comes in dancing with Yarinka.

CATHERINE [to Patiomkin]. The English captain wants you, little darling.

Catherine resumes her seat as Patiomkin intimates by a grotesque bow
that he is at Edstaston's service. Yarinka passes behind Edstaston and
Claire, and posts herself on Claire's right.

EDSTASTON. Precisely. [To Claire. ] You observe, my love: "little
darling." Well, if her Majesty calls him a darling, is it my fault that
she calls me one too?

CLAIRE. I don't care: I don't think you ought to have done it. I am very
angry and offended.

EDSTASTON. They tied me up, dear. I couldn't help it. I fought for all I
was worth.

THE SERGEANT [at the curtains]. He fought with the strength of lions and
bears. God knows I shall carry a broken sweetbread to my grave.

EDSTASTON. You can't mean to throw me over, Claire. [Urgently.] Claire.
Claire.

VARINKA [in a transport of sympathetic emotion, pleading with clasped
hands to Claire]. Oh, sweet little angel lamb, he loves you: it shines
in his darling eyes. Pardon him, pardon him.

PATIOMKIN [rushing from the Empress's side to Claire and falling on his
knees to her]. Pardon him, pardon him, little cherub! little wild duck!
little star! little glory! little jewel in the crown of heaven!