THE PAINTER. THE VALET DE CHAMBRE. Then THE DEAF MAID OF HONOUR. THE SLEEPY MAID OF HONOUR. THE QUEEN.
(The Valet entering from the left, greets The Painter with condescending nods, and walks over to the throne.)
The Painter.
Eh!--what?... Ah, indeed! (Laughs aloud.) Strange world, where the lackey carries his head the highest!
(Valet after arranging the cushions, places himself before the easel, and ogles the portrait.)
The Painter.
What is it?
The Valet.
(Pleasantly, as a connoisseur.) Ah these little furrows in the cheeks! (Benevolently.) It can't be expected, sir, of you that your brush should do justice to every fine point. Yet--aside from that--the likeness is good.
The Painter (laughing heartily).