Countess. Yes—and then?
Prince. Very well, then. I was in rather a good humor; the spirit was upon me to compose during the week one of those witty trifles. A wager, serious enough, in fact, was connected with it. Briefly, since yesterday I have been thinking, without boring myself about other matters.
Countess. And you have hit upon something?
Prince. I have not yet thought of anything. But it will come. I conceived the idea of talking it over with you. We will do the thing together, if you are quite willing. It is very easy, you will see.
Countess. But I don’t know, for my part, that it is so very easy.
Prince. Positively. Nothing more simple. Will you try?
Countess. Mon Dieu, I should like to—but you must hold the pen.
Prince. That’s understood.
Countess. There, there’s paper and ink—blue ink; is that all right?
Prince. Blue ink will do no harm. (Places himself at a centre-table.) There! Sit down in front of me, like a muse, and let us begin without further ceremony, will you?