[He begins to thump the table with his fist]
His Wife.
But, my dearest one, it is only in a circus that they beat a drum like that, to attract the people—not in a palace.
The Man.
What a fool I am! Very well, then. Never mind that part. Let us begin again. Imagine a fiddle pouring out its soul in melody, and a flute tootling tenderly, and a double-bass droning like a beetle. Thus:—
[The Man hums a tune as he sits crowned with his chaplet of oak-leaves. The tune is the same as is played during Act III, on the occasion of the grand, ball given by the Man. His wife dances to his humming, looking comely and graceful as she does so.]
The Man.
Ah, my little pet goat!
His Wife.
Nay, I am' the queen of the ball.