Prince.--Yes. I do not like him, and I am afraid of him and I am fond of him, but I tell you I could not live without him. Drahomir.--He is an honest man, too. Prince.--Honest? Very well, then, but you are better because you are not a democrat. Drahomir, I love you. Stella, I love him--Ah! She is not here. Drahomir.--Thank you, prince. Prince.--If I had another daughter, I would--well-- Drahomir.--Prince, pray do not speak that way. (Aside) I must run away. Prince.--Come, have a cigar with me. We will call the others and have a talk. Jozwowicz! Pretwic! Doctor (entering).--What are your orders, Your Highness? Prince.--You, Robespièrre, come and have a cigar. Thank you, my boy. You have rid me of the countess. Doctor.--I will send for Pretwic, and we will join you. (He rings the bell. A servant comes in--the prince and Drahomir go out.) Ask Mr. Pretwic to come here. (The servant goes out.) Doctor (alone).--Anton was right. I am helping along the logic. But I do not like the sap--because I am accustomed to break. (Pretwic enters.) SCENE XII. Pretwic. Jozwowicz. George.--I was looking for you. Doctor.--The prince has invited us to smoke a cigar with him. George.--Wait a moment. For God's sake tell me what it means. Stella changes while looking at her--there is something heavy in the air. What does it mean? Doctor.--That melancholy is the mode now. George.--You are joking with me. Doctor.--I know nothing. George.--Excuse me. The blood rushes to my head. I see some catastrophe hanging over me. I thought you would say something to pacify me. I thought you were my friend. Doctor.--Do you doubt it? George.--Shake hands first. Then give me some advice. Doctor.--Advice? Are you ill? George (with an effort).--Truly, you play with me as a cat with a mouse. Doctor.--Because I know nothing of presentiments. George.--Did you not tell me that she is not ill? Doctor.--No, she is wearied. George.--You speak about it in a strange way and you have no conception of the pain that your words cause me. Doctor.--Then try to distract her. George.--What? Who? Doctor.--Who? Count Drahomir, for instance. George.--Is she fond of him? Doctor.--And he of her also. Such poetical souls are always fond of each other. George.--What do you mean by that? Doctor (sharply).--And you--how do you take my words? George (rises.)--Not another word. You understand me, and you must know that I do not always forgive. Doctor (rises also, approaches George and looks into his eyes).--I believe you wish to frighten me. Besides this, what more do you wish?