Shall I tell you what?  Let us hope that they both fail.  These politicians!  It was bad enough for you when only one was in politics; now that both have tasted of the intoxicating drink you are done for.  Were I ever to come into a position to make a man my master, I should impose upon him but one condition, the wise rule of conduct of my old aunt:  Smoke tobacco, my husband, as much as you please; at most it will spoil the walls; but never dare to look at a newspaper—­that will spoil your character.

[KORB appears at the door.]

What news do you bring, Korb?

KORB (hastily, mysteriously).

It isn’t true!

ADELAIDE (the same).  What isn’t true?

KORB.

That he has a fiancee.  He has no idea of it.  His friend says he has but one lady-love.

ADELAIDE (eagerly).

Who is she?

KORB.  His newspaper.

ADELAIDE (relieved).

Ah, indeed. (Aloud.)

One can see by that how many falsehoods people tell.  It is good, dear
Korb.

[Exit KORB.]

IDA.  What isn’t true?

ADELAIDE (sighing).

Well, that we women are cleverer than men.  We talk just as wisely and
I fear are just as glad to forget our wisdom at the first opportunity. 
We are all of us together poor sinners!

IDA.

You can joke about it.  You never knew what it was to have your father and the man you loved oppose each other as enemies.

ADELAIDE.

Do you think so!  Well, I once had a good friend who had foolishly given her heart to a handsome, high-spirited boy.  She was a mere child and it was a very touching relationship:  knightly devotion on his part and tender sighings on hers.  Then the young heroine had the misfortune to become very jealous, and so far forgot poetry and deportment as to give her heart’s chosen knight a box on the ear.  It was only a little box, but it had fateful consequences.  The young lady’s father had seen it and demanded an explanation.  Then the young knight acted like a perfect hero.  He took all the blame upon himself and told the alarmed father that he had asked the young lady to kiss him—­poor fellow, he never had the courage for such a thing!—­and the blow had been her answer.  A stern man was the father; he treated the lad very harshly.  The hero was sent away from his family and his home, and the heroine sat lonely in her donjon-tower and mourned her lost one.

IDA.

She ought to have told her father the truth.

ADELAIDE.

Oh, she did.  But her confession made matters only worse.  Years have gone by since then, and the knight and his lady are now old people and have become quite sensible.

IDA (smiling).

And, because they are sensible, do they not love each other any longer?

ADELAIDE.