COUNT
Three, you say? May just as well say ten. Or eighteen. Yes, indeed. In fact, since the very start of this affair between her and me. It has always been a fixed idea with her. "If ever a decent man asks me to marry him, I'll get off the stage stante pede." It was almost the first thing she told me. You have heard it yourself a couple of times. And now he's come—the one she has been waiting for—and she's to get married.
PRINCE
Hope he's decent at least.
COUNT
Yes, you're very witty! But is that your only way of showing sympathy in a serious moment like this?
PRINCE
Now! (He puts his hand on the Count's arm)
COUNT
Well, I assure you, it's a serious moment. It's no small matter when you have lived twenty years with somebody—in a near-marital state; when you have been spending your best years with her, and really shared her joys and sorrows—until you have come to think at last, that it's never going to end—and then she comes to you one fine day and says: "God bless you, dear, but I'm going to get wedded on the sixteenth...." Oh, damn the whole story! (He gets up and begins to walk about) And I can't blame her even. Because I understand perfectly. So what can you do about it?