THE PRINCESS. Oh, dear me!
STRÜBEL. What are you sighing about so terribly?
THE PRINCESS. Tell me, wouldn't you like to have a closer acquaintance with your princess, some time?
STRÜBEL. Closer? Why should I? Isn't she close enough to me, my far-away princess?—for that's what I call her when I talk to myself about her. And to have her still closer?
THE PRINCESS. Why, so that you could talk to her and know what she really was like?
STRÜBEL. [Terrified.] Talk to her! Heaven forbid! Goodness gracious, no! Just see here—how am I to face a princess? I'm an ordinary fellow, the son of poor folks. I haven't polished manners—I haven't even a decent tailor. A lady like that—why, she'd measure me from top to toe in one glance. I've had my lessons in the fine houses where I've applied as tutor. A glance from boots to cravat—and you're dismissed!
THE PRINCESS. And you think that I—[correcting herself] that this girl is as superficial as that?
STRÜBEL. "This girl"! Dear me, how that sounds! But, how should I ever succeed in showing her my real self? And even if I should, what would she care? Oh, yes, if she were like you—so nice and simple—and with such a kindhearted, roguish little twinkle in her eye——!
THE PRINCESS. Roguish—I? Why so?
STRÜBEL. Because you are laughing at me in your sleeve. And really I deserve nothing better.