Doctor.—A long story. The princess has mistaken the sympathy which she feels for him for something more serious. To-day she knows that she does not love him.
Anton.—That is good. Truly, it looks as though they were pursued by fate. It is the lot of races that have lived too long.
Doctor.—Implacable logic of things.
Anton.—Then she is not going to marry him. I pity them, but to the deuce with sentimentality!
Doctor.—She would marry him if it killed her to keep her word. But there is a third person entangled in the matter—Count Drahomir.
Anton.—At every step one meets a count! He betrays Pretwic?
Doctor.—What a blockhead you are.
Anton.—Well, frankly speaking, I do not care one whit for your drawing-room affairs.
Doctor.—Drahomir and she do not know that they love each other. But something attracts them to each other. What is that force? They do not ask. They are like children.
Anton.—And how will you profit from all this?