(_He goes out with the tarts._ VIOLETTA _listens anxiously for a minute; then she takes her skirt between the tips of her fingers and practises in pantomime her anticipated ride on the palfrey. She bows, smiles, kisses her hand, until suddenly she remembers the mule standing outside the gates of the palace. That thought saddens her, so she curls up in_ POMPDEBILE'S _throne and cries softly, wiping away her tears with a lace handkerchief. There is a knock. She flies to the door and holds it shut._) VIOLETTA (_breathlessly_). Who is there? CHANCELLOR. It is I, Lady Violetta. The King wishes to return. VIOLETTA (_alarmed_). Return! Does he? But the tarts are not done. They are not done at all! CHANCELLOR. You said they would be ready in twenty minutes. His Majesty is impatient. VIOLETTA. Did you play a game of checkers with him, Chancellor? CHANCELLOR. Yes. VIOLETTA. And did you beat him? CHANCELLOR (_shortly_). I did not. VIOLETTA (_laughing_). How sweet of you! Would you mind doing it again just for me? Or would it be too great a strain on you to keep from beating him twice in succession? CHANCELLOR. I shall tell the King that you refuse admission. (VIOLETTA _runs to the window to see if the_ KNAVE _is in sight. The_ CHANCELLOR _returns and knocks._) CHANCELLOR. The King wishes to come in. VIOLETTA. But the checkers! CHANCELLOR. The Knights of the Checker Board have taken them away. VIOLETTA. But the tarts aren't done, really. CHANCELLOR. You said twenty minutes. VIOLETTA. No, I didn't--at least, I said twenty minutes for them to get good and warm and another twenty minutes for them to become brown. That makes forty--don't you remember? CHANCELLOR. I shall carry your message to His Majesty. (VIOLETTA _again runs to the window and peers anxiously up the road._) CHANCELLOR (_knocking loudly_). The King commands you to open the door. VIOLETTA. Commands! Tell him--Is he there--with you? CHANCELLOR. His Majesty is at the door. VIOLETTA. Pompy, I think you are rude, very rude indeed. I don't see how you can be so rude--to command me, your own Violetta who loves you so. (_She again looks in vain for the_ KNAVE.) Oh, dear! (_Wringing her hands_) Where can he be! POMPDEBILE (_outside_). This is nonsense. Don't you see how worried we are? It is a compliment to you-- VIOLETTA. Well, come in; I don't care--only I'm sure they are not finished. (_She opens the door for the_ KING, the CHANCELLOR, _and the two_ PASTRY COOKS. _The_ KING _walks to his throne. He finds_ LADY VIOLETTA'S _lace handkerchief on it._) POMPDEBILE (_holding up handkerchief_). What is this? VIOLETTA. Oh, that's my handkerchief. POMPDEBILE. It is very damp. Can it be that you are anxious, that you are afraid? VIOLETTA. How silly, Pompy. I washed my hands, as one always does after cooking; (_to the_ PASTRY COOKS) doesn't one? But there was no towel, so I used my handkerchief instead of my petticoat, which is made of chiffon and is very perishable.