THE PRINCE. I wonder why the sailor does not come. It looks like a storm.
The sky has become ominously dark.
THE OLD WOMAN. Would a storm hold you back?
THE PRINCE. Is that what you think of me, old woman?
THE OLD WOMAN. Well, we shall see what stuff you are made of….
She shuffles off. The Queen enters.
THE QUEEN. (coming up to him, tenderly) When did you wake?
THE PRINCE. Did you think your voice had enough magic in it to make me sleep till you returned? We have just time to say farewell.
THE QUEEN. There is a storm coming up. Do you see how black the sky is?
THE PRINCE. I am not afraid of storms.