First Maid of Honour. Be good! Nice and good! Here is a sweetmeat! Cupid. I want to get down! My legs are cold. The Queen. Oh, fie! The word offends my ears. The Marquis In Pink. Pardon him, your Majesty, the saucy child surely does not know that in your presence one can speak only of roses, lilies, and such delicate things. The Queen. It seems to me that the little fellow lacks education. The Marquis in Pale Blue. Hereafter, only children from superior families should be chosen for this purpose. The Queen. And you, respected artist, have no word to say? The Painter. It is not fitting that every one should speak. I am engaged to paint, not to make speeches. Still, may I ask you to send the boy away? (The Queen _laughing, makes a sign. Two maids of honour set him free_.) The Marquis In Pink. What a way of speaking! The Marquis in Pale Blue. What a plebeian! The Marquis In Pink. How self-conscious! The Marquis in Pale Blue. And she dotes on him! The Queen. Nay, dear master, speak! For rarely do I have the pleasure of finding my thought sympathetically stimulated by the thought of another. I do so like to think--I like to _feel_ perhaps even better--yet these gentlemen talk as if they were in a fever. The Marquises. Oh, your Majesty! The Queen. Yes, indeed! Look for the man who without hope of meretricious gain knows how to devote himself faithfully to noble service, and who without honeyed phrases gracefully pursues what is dear to his soul; as for you--you could borrow for yourselves a little of love's fire merely from the confectioner's kitchen. The Marquis In Pink. Oh, that is severe! The Marquis in Pale Blue. Oh, that is almost deadly! The Queen. Then resist, and do not drag along inoffensively the burden, new every day, of my old contempt which I bestow upon you, because it pleases me to, like the ordinance of God. But let him expect my reward who can say worthily and honourably: Behold, oh Queen, I am a man! The Marquis in Pale Blue. I am one! The Marquis In Pink. So am I! The Queen. I don't think ill of you! I like you. You don't disturb my repose--yet, dear master, what say you to that? The Painter. I pray, your Majesty, still a little farther to the right. The Queen (_smiling_). And is that all? Does nothing which may occur in this room interest you?