WILHELMINE (alone).
I am tired of all this. I am beginning to be conscious of myself, now that I know there is some one who recognizes my meagre worth. The situation here is unbearable. I am weary of this unworthy subordination, this barrack-room service.
[SONNSFELD comes back with mantilla, fan and veil.]
WILHELMINE.
You might have chosen the mantilla with the Brussels lace.
SONNSFELD.
Your Highness—what is your purpose?
WILHELMINE.
Throw the veil about my head. Don't question everything I do. Must I give you an accounting for every trifle?