Doctor.—A lord for generations. He carried his head so high that he did not notice what cracked beneath his feet.
Anton.—I like the story. And what about the peasant?
Doctor.—According to the peasant tradition, he is thinking of a flint and tinder.
Anton.—Glorious idea! Truly we despise tradition too much. There are good things in it.
Doctor.—Enough. Let us talk of something else.
Anton (looking around).—An old and rich house. It would make a splendid cabin.
Doctor.—What do you say?
Anton.—Nothing. Has the old prince a daughter?
Doctor.—Yes. Why?
Anton (laughing).—Ha, ha! Your trouble has the scent of a perfume used by a lady. I smell here the petticoat of the princess. Behind the member of parliament is Jozwowicz, just as behind the evening dress there is the morning gown. What a strong perfume!