And they're calling and talking all over the house, and neither of them
knows any German. And her ladyship ordered a warm bath, that was not
warm enough; and a cold douche, which was not cold enough; and spirits,
which she simply poured out of the window; and toilet vinegar, which we
didn't have at all.
FRANZISKA.
What demands! And where is your famous young lady?
MRS. SCHWARTZE.
After her bath she has gone back to bed again.
FRANZISKA.
I would not have such sloth in my house.
MRS. SCHWARTZE.
I shall tell her so. For Leopold's sake-- [_Enter_ Theresa.] What do
you want, Theresa?
THERESA.
Councillor von Keller--he has sent his servant here to ask whether the
Lieutenant has come yet, and what is the young lady's answer.
MRS. SCHWARTZE.
What young lady?
THERESA.
That's what I don't know.
MRS. SCHWARTZE.
Then just give our regards, and say that the Lieutenant has not come
yet.
FRANZISKA.
He is on duty till twelve. After that he'll come.
[_Exit_ Theresa. _As she opens the door, a great noise is heard in the
hall,--a man's voice and a woman's disputing in Italian_.]
MRS. SCHWARTZE.
Listen to that! [_Speaking outside_.] Just you wait. Your Signora'll be
here soon. [_Shuts the door_.] Ah! And now, breakfast. What do you
think she drinks?
FRANZISKA.
Why, coffee.
MRS. SCHWARTZE.
No.
FRANZISKA.
Tea, then?
MRS. SCHWARTZE.
No.
FRANZISKA.
Then it must be chocolate!
MRS. SCHWARTZE.
No; coffee and chocolate mixed.
FRANZISKA.
Horrible! But it must be good.
MRS. SCHWARTZE.
And yesterday half a dozen trunks came from the hotel, and as many more
are still there. Ah, what there is in them all! One whole trunk for
hats! A peignoir of real point, and open-work stockings with gold
embroidery, and [_in a whisper_] silk chemises--
FRANZISKA.
What? Silk--
MRS. SCHWARTZE.
Yes.
FRANZISKA.
[_With a gesture of horror_.] It is simply sinful.
_Enter_ Magda, _in brilliant morning toilette, speaking outside as she
opens the door_.
MAGDA.
_Ma che cosa volete voi? Perche non aspettate, finché vi commando?_ Ha?
MRS. SCHWARTZE.
Now they are getting their share!
MAGDA.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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