Beata.
(In a low voice, while the others gather about Richard.) Long life to him! (She presses her hand to her heart, and rests heavily against the arm of her chair.)
Prince (to Kellinghausen).
Is anything wrong with the Countess?
Kellinghausen.
Beata!
Beata (raising herself with a smile).
Yes?
Kellinghausen.
Would you not rather go into the drawing-room? You look tired. (She shakes her head.)