[Everyone shrieks, preventing her saying the word.]
The Frog.
[Seizing her hand.] Come, my darling goddaughter—to the pond—the pond!
Moss-Rose.
Oh, but my dear, dear Sir Amphibious, I can’t! Don’t you hear it calling me? Buzz-whir—telling me it is the appointed day! [Again All cry out.]
The Cook.
[Followed by his assistants rushes in, agitated, brandishing a soup-ladle.] Oh, Sire, Madam—in the kitchen—the strangest noise—There it is now! Buzz, whir, sp—
[Again All cry out.]
Moss-Rose.