The Prince, thirty years old.
The Countess, twenty-six years old.
Scene—The Countess’s Boudoir.
The Countess. How do you do, Prince?
Prince. What, not out? Ah, I am fortunate, upon my word!
Countess. But you wrote me that you would come—
Prince. I wrote you that, really? Ah, that’s odd. Ah, ah, that is amusing! Madame, your mother is well?
Countess. Very well—a little tired, that’s all—she’s just going up to her room. But sit down.
Prince (seating himself). Do you know what brings me here?
Countess. What?
Prince. I come to ask your advice. Imagine that I dined at the Embassy. They got talking about little drawing-room comedies, about proverbes or parables, about those little things, you know, that they play at private theatricals, and of the difficulty one experiences in finding any that are not too hackneyed, that one has not seen everywhere, and that are agreeable.