Doctor.—Your Highness, were I your son I would be rich and have a title—in a word everything Your Highness possesses. But being a poor man, I must make my way, and no one has the right to bar it to me, especially if my road is straight and honest. (Laughing.) Unless Your Highness would like to adopt me in order to preserve the family.
Prince.—What nonsense you are talking.
Doctor.—I am only joking. Well, Your Highness, let us cease this irritation.
Prince.—It is true, it hurts me. Why will you not give up the idea of becoming a member of parliament?
Doctor.—It is my future.
Prince.—And in the mean time I am vexed by every one on that account. When I was young I was in many battles and I did not fear. I can show my decorations. I was not afraid of death on the battlefield, but those Latin illnesses of yours—Why do you look at me in that way?
Doctor.—I am looking as usual. As for your illness, I will say that it is more the imagination of Your Highness than anything else. The constitution is strong, and with my assistance Your Highness will live to the age of Methusaleh.
Prince.—Are you sure of it?
Doctor.—Positive.
Prince.—Good boy! And you will not leave me?