Retire in haste, young maid, and wisely shirk
To insult Kris Kringle at his goodly work!
Eloise (with sudden anger, stamping her foot, and, coming much nearer to the Baron).
Retire, indeed! And do you still surmise
I've not the sense to pierce your thin disguise?
I wonder, wicked knave that you appear,
The real Kris Kringle does not find you here,
And soundly punish you for this offense
In due proportion to its impudence.
[Eloise here gives a loud, mocking laugh, and abruptly tears wig from the Baron's head, afterward pulling beard from his face also.]
Of me, Gaspard, I'll teach you to make sport
With mask and mummery of this idle sort.
I'll bid you learn if Eloise will bear
Being juggled with by stratagems unfair.
I'll have you know—
Eloise. Ah, Heaven! what have i done?
Baron. You've counted on your Game before 'twas won.
(Discovering that it is the Baron, and showing great consternation.)
Ah, Heaven! what have I done?
Baron (good-humoredly).