Drahomir.—He is an honest man, too.
Prince.—Honest? Very well, then, but you are better because you are not a democrat. Drahomir, I love you. Stella, I love him—Ah! She is not here.
Drahomir.—Thank you, prince.
Prince.—If I had another daughter, I would—well—
Drahomir.—Prince, pray do not speak that way. (Aside) I must run away.
Prince.—Come, have a cigar with me. We will call the others and have a talk. Jozwowicz! Pretwic!
Doctor (entering).—What are your orders, Your Highness?
Prince.—You, Robespièrre, come and have a cigar. Thank you, my boy.
You have rid me of the countess.
Doctor.—I will send for Pretwic, and we will join you. (He rings the bell. A servant comes in—the prince and Drahomir go out.) Ask Mr. Pretwic to come here. (The servant goes out.)
Doctor (alone).—Anton was right. I am helping along the logic. But I do not like the sap—because I am accustomed to break. (Pretwic enters.)