KNAVE.  Ah!

VIOLETTA.  Those stupid tarts!  And wouldn’t I make a pretty picture riding on the white palfrey, garlanded with flowers, followed by the cheers of the populace—­Long live Queen Violetta, long live Queen Violetta!  Those abominable tarts!

KNAVE.  I’m afraid that Her Ladyship is vain.

VIOLETTA.  I am indeed.  Isn’t it fortunate?

KNAVE.  Fortunate?

VIOLETTA.  Well, I mean it would be fortunate if I were going to be queen.  They get so much flattery.  The queens who don’t adore it as I do must be bored to death.  Poor things!  I’m never so happy as when I am being flattered.  It makes me feel all warm and purry.  That is another reason why I feel sure I was made to be a queen.

KNAVE (looking ruefully at the pan).  You will never be queen, My
Lady, unless we can think of something quickly, some plan—­

VIOLETTA.  Oh, yes, dear Knave, please think of a plan at once.  Banished people, I suppose, have to comb their own hair, put on their shoes, and button themselves up the back.  I have never performed these estimable and worthy tasks, Knave.  I don’t know how; I don’t even know how to scent my bath.  I haven’t the least idea what makes it smell deliciously of violets.  I only know that it always does smell deliciously of violets because I wish it that way.  I should be miserable; save me, Knave, please.

KNAVE.  My mind is unhappily a blank, Your Majesty.

VIOLETTA.  It’s very unjust.  Indeed, it’s unjust!  No other queen in the world has to understand cooking; even the Queen of Spades doesn’t.  Why should the Queen of Hearts, of all people!

KNAVE.  Perhaps it is because—­I have heard a proverb:  “The way to the heart is through the—­”

VIOLETTA (angrily, stamping her foot).  Don’t repeat that hateful proverb!  Nothing can make me more angry.  I feel like crying when I hear it, too.  Now see, I’m crying.  You made me.

KNAVE.  Why does that proverb make you cry, My Lady?

VIOLETTA.  Oh, because it is such a stupid proverb and so silly, because it’s true in most cases, and because—­I don’t know why.

KNAVE.  We are a set of moles here.  One might also say that we are a set of mules.  How can moles or mules either be expected to understand the point of view of a Bird of Paradise when she—­

VIOLETTA.  Bird of Paradise!  Do you mean me?

KNAVE (bowing).  I do, My Lady, figuratively speaking.

VIOLETTA (drying her eyes).  How very pretty of you!  Do you know,
I think that you would make a splendid chancellor.

KNAVE.  Her Ladyship is vain, as I remarked before.

VIOLETTA (coldly).  As I remarked before, how fortunate.  Have you anything to suggest—­a plan?

KNAVE.  If only there were time my wife could teach you.  Her figure is squat, round, her nose is clumsy, and her eyes stumble over it; but her cooking, ah—­(He blows a kiss) it is a thing to dream about.  She cooks as naturally as the angels sing.  The delicate flavors of her concoctions float over the palate like the perfumes of a thousand flowers.  True, her temper, it is anything but sweet—­However, I am conceded by many to be the most happily married man in the kingdom.