THE YOUNG MAN. Rather I think our malady is yours, For whence upon you falls this giant robe? Child, whom beforehand they have robbed of glory, Pale Prince, so pale against your sable suit, Why are you pale, my Prince? THE DUKE. I am his son. THE YOUNG MAN. Well! Feeble, feverish, dreaming of the past, Like you rebellious, what is left to do?-- We're all, to some extent, your father's sons. THE DUKE. You are his soldiers' sons: that's just as glorious. And 'tis no less redoubtable a burden; But it emboldens me, for I can say They're but the sons of heroes of the empire: They'll be content to take the Emperor's son! THE COUNTESS CAMERATA. [_Coming out of_ MARIA LOUISA'S _apartments._] The scarf!--Oh, hush! I'm doing such a trade! THE DUKE. Thank you! THE COUNTESS. I only wish 'twere selling swords! That silly baby-talk will be my death. THE DUKE. Warlike, I know. A VOICE. [_Within._] The scarf! THE COUNTESS. I'm looking for it! THE DUKE. It seems this little hand can tame-- THE COUNTESS. I love A fiery horse. THE DUKE. You're mistress of the foils? THE COUNTESS. And of the sword! THE DUKE. Ready for anything? THE COUNTESS. [_Speaking toward the room._] Indeed, I'm looking for it everywhere. [_To the_ DUKE.] Ready for anything for your Imperial Highness. THE DUKE. You're lion-hearted, Cousin! THE COUNTESS. And my name Is glorious. THE DUKE. Which name? THE COUNTESS. Napoleone! SCARAMPI'S VOICE. [_Within._] Well? Can't you find it? THE COUNTESS. No. A VOICE. Look on the piano. THE COUNTESS. I must be off. Discuss our great design. [_With a cry, as if she had found what she was looking for._] Ah! here it is! THE VOICE. You've found it? THE COUNTESS. On the harp. You understand, it's gathered up in folds-- [_She goes into_ MARIA LOUISA'S _room._] THE YOUNG MAN. Well? You accept? THE DUKE. I don't quite understand Zealous Imperialism from a liberal-- THE YOUNG MAN. True: a republican-- THE DUKE. You come to me Rather a long way round-- THE YOUNG MAN. All roads to-day Lead to the King of Rome. My scarlet badge I thought unfading-- THE DUKE. Faded in the sun? THE YOUNG MAN. Of Austerlitz! Yes! History makes us drunk. The battles which no more are fought, are told. The blood is vanished, but the glory gleams. So that to-day there is no he but _HE_! He never won such victories as now: His soldiers perished, but his poets live. THE DUKE. In short-- THE YOUNG MAN.