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 compliment to you—­

VIOLETTA.  Well, come in; I don’t care—­only I’m sure they are not finished.

(She opens the door for the KING, the CHANCELLOR, and the two PASTRY COOKS. The KING walks to his throne.  He finds LADY VIOLETTA’S lace handkerchief on it.)

POMPDEBILE (holding up handkerchief).  What is this?

VIOLETTA.  Oh, that’s my handkerchief.

POMPDEBILE.  It is very damp.  Can it be that you are anxious, that you are afraid?

VIOLETTA.  How silly, Pompy.  I washed my hands, as one always does after cooking; (to the PASTRY COOKS) doesn’t one?  But there was no towel, so I used my handkerchief instead of my petticoat, which is made of chiffon and is very perishable.

CHANCELLOR.  Is the Lady Violetta ready to produce her work?