MELISANDE. But are you so certain that you will kill him? Suppose he were to kill you?
GERVASE (getting up). Madam, when the third son of a humble woodcutter engages in mortal combat with one upon whom the beautiful Princess has frowned, there can be but one end to the struggle. To doubt this would be to let Romance go.
MELISANDE. You are right. I should never have doubted.
GERVASE. At the same time, it would perhaps be as well to ask the help of my Uncle Otto.
MELISANDE. But is it fair to seek the assistance of an uncle in order to kill one small black and white suitor?
GERVASE. Ah, but he is a wizard. One is always allowed to ask the help of a wizard. My idea was that he should cast a spell upon the presumptuous youth who seeks to woo you, so that to those who gazed upon him he should have the outward semblance of a rabbit. He would then realise the hopelessness of his suit and . . . go away.
MELISANDE (with dignity). I should certainly never marry a small black and white rabbit.
GERVASE. No, you couldn't, could you?
MELISANDE (gravely). No. (Then their eyes meet. There is a twinkle in his; hers respond; and suddenly they are laughing together. What nonsense you talk!
GERVASE. Well, it's such an absurdly fine morning, isn't it? There's a sort of sparkle in the air. I'm really trying to be quite sensible.