VIOLETTA. Oh, yes, dear Knave, please think of a plan at once. Banished people, I suppose, have to comb their own hair, put on their shoes, and button themselves up the back. I have never performed these estimable and worthy tasks, Knave. I don't know how; I don't even know how to scent my bath. I haven't the least idea what makes it smell deliciously of violets. I only know that it always does smell deliciously of violets because I wish it that way. I should be miserable; save me, Knave, please.
KNAVE. My mind is unhappily a blank, Your Majesty.
VIOLETTA. It's very unjust. Indeed, it's unjust! No other queen in the world has to understand cooking; even the Queen of Spades doesn't. Why should the Queen of Hearts, of all people!
KNAVE. Perhaps it is because—I have heard a proverb: "The way to the heart is through the—"
VIOLETTA (angrily, stamping her foot). Don't repeat that hateful proverb! Nothing can make me more angry. I feel like crying when I hear it, too. Now see, I'm crying. You made me.
KNAVE. Why does that proverb make you cry, My Lady?
VIOLETTA. Oh, because it is such a stupid proverb and so silly, because it's true in most cases, and because—I don't know why.
KNAVE. We are a set of moles here. One might also say that we are a set of mules. How can moles or mules either be expected to understand the point of view of a Bird of Paradise when she—
VIOLETTA. Bird of Paradise! Do you mean me?
KNAVE (bowing). I do, My Lady, figuratively speaking.