THE GYPSY. Ah, nameless and immortal goddess, whose home is in the moonbeams! I speak to you and praise you for perhaps the last time. O august and whimsical goddess, I am about to die for your sake—I, the last of your worshippers! When I have perished on your altar, the whole world will be sane. Your butterflies will no longer whirl on crimson wings within the minds of men; only the maggots of reason will crawl and fester. You will look, and weep a foolish tear—for all this is not worth your grief—and take your flight to other constellations.
THE MAID. (who has just entered and stands listening) The constellations! Oh, do teach me astronomy!
THE GYPSY. Astronomy! Why do you want to be taught astronomy?
THE MAID. Because I want to be able to tell fortunes from the stars.
THE GYPSY. That is astrology, my dear—a much more useful science. Come, and I will give you a lesson. Do you see that dim planet swinging low on the horizon? That is my star. Its name is Saturn. It is the star of mischief and rebellion. I was born under that star, and I shall always hate order as Saturn hated his great enemy Jupiter.
THE MAID. One does not need to know the stars to tell that. But let me counsel you to caution.
THE GYPSY. Ah, my dear, that was a wifely speech! You will make a success of marriage.
THE MAID. I shall never marry.
THE GYPSY. It would be a pity not to make some good man happy. You are the ideal of every male being in this kingdom, including its ruler.
THE MAID. Do you really think I am the sort of girl to make the King happy?