Clara. When I was a child, I saw a balloon being filled one day, and there was a horrible smell from the gas. Afterwards, when I saw the gleaming balloon rising in the air, I thought to myself: "Ah, that horrid smell was something burning; they had to burn it for the balloon to be able to rise." And after that, every time I heard anything horrid said about my father, I felt as if something was burning inside me, and I thought of the balloon and imagined I could smell the smell. And then all at once I imagined I saw it rising; the horrid part was burnt, and it was able to mount aloft! I assure you that balloon was a good genius to me. And now, years afterwards, when I have been a target for calumny myself--and you for my sake--I have felt just the same thing. Every word has burned; but I have got over it in a moment, and risen high, high above it all! I never seem to breathe so pure an atmosphere as a little while after something cruel has been said of me. The King. I shall certainly set to work and abuse you at once, if it has such delightful results! I will begin with a selection from to-day's papers: "You Aspasia! You Messalina! You Pompadour! You Phylloxera, that are eating into our whole moral vine-crop! You blue-eyed curse of the country, that are causing panics in the money-market, overthrowing ministries, and upsetting all calculations in the elections! You mischievous hobgoblin, who are pouring gall into the printers' ink and poison into the people's coffee, filling all the old ladies' heads with buzzing flies, and the King's Majesty with a million lover's follies!" Do you know that, besides all the harm you are doing to-day, you are hastening a revolution by ten years? You are! And no one can be sure whether you haven't been pursuing the same wicked courses for the last hundred years or more! All our royal and noble ancestors are turning in their graves because of you! And if our deceased queens have any noses left-- Clara (interrupting him). The Baroness! (They get up. The BARONESS comes in wearing a cloak over her court dress and carrying CLARA'S cloak over her arm.) Baroness. I must take the liberty of disturbing you. Time is up! The King. We have been killing it by talking nonsense. Baroness. And that has put you in a good humour? The King (taking his hat). In the best of humours! Here, my darling (fastens CLARA'S cloak about her shoulders), here is the last scandalous bit of concealment for you! When we take it off again, you shall stand radiant in the light of your own truth. Come! (Gives her his arm, and they go trippingly up to the back of the room. Suddenly the phantom of an emaciated figure leaning on crutches appears in their path, staring at them. His hair and beard are in wild disorder, and blood is pouring from his mouth. CLARA gives a terrified scream.) The King. In Heaven's name, what is it? Clara. My father!