Bertha: An hour.
Rita (to herself): He does not love me any more. (Loudly) But during that time he might have at least repaired the bell. He is of no use whatever. (She laughs.)
Bertha: The Count came directly from the matinée and asked me where your ladyship had gone to dine. Naturally I did not know.
Rita: Did he ask—anything else?
Bertha: No, he looked at the photographs.
Rita (in the door): Well? And does he expect to come again to-day?
Bertha: Yes, certainly. At four o'clock.
Rita (looks at the clock): Oh, but that's boring. Now it is already half-past three. One cannot even drink coffee in peace. Hurry, Bertha, prepare the coffee.
(Bertha leaves the room, carrying the articles of attire.)
(Rita, after a pause, singing a melancholy melody.)