Understand me rightly: only in appearance.
The Marshal.
And my reputation as a swordsman goes with it into the bargain.
The Painter.
Oh, not at all! You will get up again.
The Marshal (laughing).
My friend, I am not sorry that you are still alive. I have become reconciled with you, and I who have dared a great deal in toil and strife, am astonished at the extent of your courage. Very well, what your cunning mind has devised for your escape, I accept. Yet woe to you if this time you do not win! And now to the work!
The Painter.
Come on!... Yet no, by your leave! So that they may believe the incredible about me, I will arrange the thing in naturalistic fashion. (He draws his sword.) Is the door locked? (He walks to the door at the centre, and points his sword at the keyhole.) Eyes away! I am going to thrust! (A scream is uttered in the antechamber.) And now look out! I am going to mark horrid pools of spilt blood! (He mixes colours on the palette, and hands the Marshal his sword.) Hold it, I beg you. (He smears the sword blade with his brush.)
The Marshal.