Yes, you are beautiful! You--(_restraining himself_). Your Majesty, I beg you to turn a little more to the left. The Queen. (_Turns her head quite to the left_.) So? The Painter. Yes. The Queen. What are you painting now? The Painter. Your hand. The Queen (_pointing to her face_). And it is for that, that I am to turn to the left? The Painter. I meant, just to the centre. The Queen. Is the hand well posed? The Painter. Very well. The Queen. Can you see it from where you sit? The Painter. No, yes--(_she laughs_). Forgive me if I am talking nonsense. The Queen (_spreading out her hand_). Here you have it! How the sapphire sparkles! A beautiful stone!... You praised my face, but yet you don't say whether you like my hand. The Painter. Instead of finding fault with me, look! I have painted it. The Queen (_pouting_). You have indeed painted it, but you have not kissed it. From that I conclude that it is not attractive. The Painter. And forgive me, if I transgress the rules of your court, more from shyness than from want of intelligence. Even so, the sailor knows well the laws of the stars' movements and yet must often sail a false course. The Queen. It seems as if you wished to avoid the subject. I was speaking of a hand--you speak of stars. The Painter. You were speaking of your hand and that is so far from me that even the eternal will, the might which compels the starry heaven, brings it not one inch nearer to me. The Queen. Indeed, do you believe that? (_She rises and goes to the easel_.) Now pray what happened? You willed nothing and compelled nothing, yet please observe--the hand is there. The Painter. Madam, where others fell down before you, here it is my duty to warn you. I am not a simple shepherd, and never do I let people make game of me. The Queen. Ah, now it becomes interesting! You look at me as savagely as if a hatred quite unappeased and unappeasable possessed you. The Painter.