Prince Paul (bowing). Perhaps I see more in her, Marquis. Your wife is really a charming woman, so full of esprit, and so satirical too; she talks continually of you when we are together.
Prince Petro. (looking at the clock). His Majesty is a little late to-day, is he not?
Prince Paul. What has happened to you, my dear Petrovitch? you seem quite out of sorts. You haven't quarrelled with your cook, I hope? What a tragedy that would be for you; you would lose all your friends.
Prince Petro. I fear I wouldn't be so fortunate as that. You forget I would still have my purse.[6] But you are wrong for once; my chef and I are on excellent[7] terms.
Prince Paul. Then your creditors or Mademoiselle Vera Sabouroff have been writing to you? I find both of them such excellent correspondents. But really you needn't be alarmed. I find the most violent proclamations from the Executive Committee, as they call it, left all over my house. I never read them; they are so badly spelt as a rule.
Prince Petro. Wrong again, Prince; the Nihilists leave me alone for some reason or other.
Prince Paul (aside). Ah! true. I forgot. Indifference is the revenge the world takes on mediocrities.
Prince Petro. I am bored with life,[8] Prince. Since the opera season ended I have been a perpetual martyr to ennui.
Prince Paul. The maladie du siècle! You want a new excitement, Prince. Let me see—you have been married twice already; suppose you try—falling in love, for once.
Baron R. Prince, I have been thinking a good deal lately—