Stella.—Very much so.
Czeska.—So intelligent that I am afraid of him.
Drahomir.—But the prince must be satisfied.
Prince.—Satisfied, satisfied! He has lost his common sense. He became a democrat—a sans culotte. But he is a good doctor, and I am sick. I have some stomach trouble. (To Drahomir.) Have you heard of it?
Drahomir.—The prince complained already some time ago.
Czeska.—For twenty years.
Prince.—Sorrow and public service have ruined my health.
Czeska.—But Your Highness is healthy.
Prince (angrily).—I tell you that I am sick. Stella, I am sick—am I not?
Stella.—But now you will feel better.