_Prince_ (_rising_). It is certain that I am too beastly stupid--dumb as an animal--And then I am thinking of something else--Oh, well, I am going! _Countess._ No! _Prince._ I assure you that at other times I had a sort of wit--Inquire at the Embassy--they know--But I am altogether changed--Good night, I am going. _Countess._ No! _Prince._ I am not going? _Countess._ No, I tell you! _Prince._ So be it. (_He sits down again._) _Countess._ Let us return. Where were we?--“The Count, the Countess--” _Prince._ The truth is you ought to consider me a regular imbecile. _Countess._ Is it the Count says that? _Prince._ No, it is I. _Countess._ Not at all--I find you only a little odd. _Prince._ Odd! You are very kind--But no, really; I beg of you to inquire at the Embassy--they will tell you that I do not lack intelligence, and that at other times I had even a sort of inspiration. _Countess._ But, my Prince, I have no need to inquire at the Embassy, I have only to remember. I have known you to be extremely brilliant, several months ago when you were making love to me. _Prince._ Brilliant, no; but I was as good as another at any rate. _Countess._ Yes, yes, I insist--You were a brilliant young man, sparkling, dreadful!--(_She rubs her hands softly._) _Prince._ You are making fun of me--I was not sparkling, but I had some vivacity--and that was but two years ago! It is true that I had only just arrived at Paris,--and that I had not yet passed under the influence of the climate. _Countess._ You believe it was the climate-- _Prince._ What will you have? It must assuredly have been something--It isn’t age--I am not thirty years old--At any rate, I think I shall leave Paris, and diplomacy as well--My mother sends for me from Vienna--I received a letter from her this morning--I wanted, also, to show it to you-- (_He fumbles about in his coat pocket and pulls out a letter half-tangled in some black lace._) _Countess._ What lace is that coming out of your pocket? _Prince_ (_confused_). Lace? Oh! Do you see some lace? _Countess._ This--But I say, my Prince, is not this one of my veils, here? _Prince._ One of your veils--here?--Are you sure? _Countess._ Absolutely!--And I am going to take it back, too, if you will allow me--That’s lace of great price, if you have your doubts about it. _Prince._ I implore you to believe, indeed, madame, that I did not attach a mercenary value to it. But how do I come to have that veil about me? _Countess._ It is very easy to explain. I must have left it at the Embassy on a visit, they charged you to return it to me, and with your usual absent-mindedness, you forgot the commission. _Prince._ That’s simple. I ask ten thousand pardons. It is perfectly evident! You see I am not myself at all any more. All my faculties--even my memory--are weakening. It is high time I go to recover strength in my native air. You see what my mother tells me?