QUEEN (crossly—she was like that). I don't know why you dragged me here.
KING. As I told you, my love, to be alone.
QUEEN. Well, you aren't alone. (She indicates the WOODCUTTER.)
KING. Pooh, he doesn't matter. . . . Well now, about these three Princes. They are getting on my mind rather. It is time we decided which one of them is to marry our beloved child. The trouble is to choose between them.
QUEEN. As regards appetite, there is nothing to choose between them. They are three of the heartiest eaters I have met for some time.
KING. You are right. The sooner we choose one of them, and send the other two about their business, the better. (Reflectively) There were six peaches on the breakfast-table this morning. Did I get one? No.
QUEEN. Did I get one? No.
KING. Did our darling child get one—not that it matters? No.
QUEEN. It is a pity that the seven-headed bull died last year.
KING. Yes, he had a way of sorting out competitors for the hand of our beloved one that was beyond all praise. One could have felt quite sure that, had the three competitors been introduced to him, only one of them would have taken any further interest in the matter.