VIOLETTA (coming down). Oh, I see. May I sit here, Chancellor, in this seemingly humble position at his feet? Of course, I can't really be humble when he is holding my hand and enjoying it so much.
POMPDEBILE. Violetta! (To the PASTRY COOKS) Sample the tarts.
This suspense is unbearable!
(The KING'S voice is husky with excitement. The two PASTRY COOKS, after bowing with great ceremony to the KING, to each other, to the CHANCELLOR—for this is the most important moment of their lives by far—walk to the oven door and open it, impressively. They fall back in astonishment so great that they lose their balance, but they quickly scramble to their feet again).
YELLOW HOSE. Your Majesty, there are no tarts there!
BLUE HOSE. Your Majesty, the tarts have gone!
VIOLETTA (clasping her hands). Gone! Oh, where could they have gone?
POMPDEBILB (coming down from throne). That is impossible.
PASTRY COOKS (greatly excited). You see, you see, the oven is empty as a drum.
POMPDEBILE (to VIOLETTA). Did you go out of this room?
VIOLETTA (wailing). Only for a few minutes, Pompy, to powder my nose before the mirror in the pantry. (To PASTRY COOKS) When one cooks one becomes so disheveled, doesn't one? But if I had thought for one little minute—