VIOLETTA. How silly, Pompy. I washed my hands, as one always does after cooking; (to the PASTRY COOKS) doesn't one? But there was no towel, so I used my handkerchief instead of my petticoat, which is made of chiffon and is very perishable.
CHANCELLOR. Is the Lady Violetta ready to produce her work?
VIOLETTA. I don't understand what you mean by work, Chancellor. Oh, the tarts! (Nervously) They were quite simple—quite simple to make—no work at all—A little imagination is all one needs for such things, just imagination. You agree with me, don't you, Pompy, that imagination will work wonders—will do almost anything, in fact? I remember—
POMPDEBILE. The Pastry Cooks will remove the tarts from the oven.
VIOLETTA. Oh, no, Pompy! They are not finished or cooked, or whatever one calls it. They are not. The last five minutes is of the greatest importance. Please don't let them touch them! Please—
POMPDEBILE. There, there, my dear Violetta, calm yourself. If you wish, they will put them back again. There can be no harm in looking at them. Come, I will hold your hand.
VIOLETTA. That will help a great deal, Pompy, your holding my hand.
(She scrambles up on the throne beside the KING.)
CHANCELLOR (in horror). On the throne, Your Majesty?
POMPDEBILE. Of course not, Chancellor. We regret that you are not yet entitled to sit on the throne, my dear. In a little while—