n what mysterious volume
Has one so young learnt all the human heart?
For that is what I feel.

THE DUKE.

Give me your hand!
For, as a sapling, friend, which is transplanted,
Feels all the forest in its ignorant veins,
And suffers when its distant mates are hurt,
So I, who knew you not, here, all alone,
Felt the distemper stirring in my blood
Which at this moment blights the youth of France.

THE YOUNG MAN.

Rather I think our malady is yours,
For whence upon you falls this giant robe?
Child, whom beforehand they have robbed of glory,
Pale Prince, so pale against your sable suit,
Why are you pale, my Prince?

THE DUKE.

I am his son.

THE YOUNG MAN.

Well! Feeble, feverish, dreaming of the past,
Like you rebellious, what is left to do?--
We're all, to some extent, your father's sons.

THE DUKE.

You are his soldiers' sons: that's just as glorious.
And 'tis no less redoubtable a burden;
But it emboldens me, for I can say
They're but the sons of heroes of the empire:
They'll be content to take the Emperor's son!

THE COUNTESS CAMERATA.

[_Coming out of_ MARIA LOUISA'S _apartments._]

The scarf!--Oh, hush! I'm doing such a trade!

THE DUKE.

Thank you!

THE COUNTESS.

I only wish 'twere selling swords!
That silly baby-talk will be my death.

THE DUKE.

Warlike, I know.

A VOICE.

[_Within._]

The scarf!

THE COUNTESS.

I'm looking for it!

THE DUKE.

It seems this little hand can tame--

THE COUNTESS.

I love
A fiery horse.

THE DUKE.

You're mistress of the foils?

THE COUNTESS.

And of the sword!

THE DUKE.

Ready for anything?

THE COUNTESS.

[_Speaking toward the room._]

Indeed, I'm looking for it everywhere.

[_To the_ DUKE.]

Ready for anything for your Imperial Highness.

THE DUKE.

You're lion-hearted, Cousin!

THE COUNTESS.

And my name
Is glorious.

THE DUKE.

Which name?

THE COUNTESS.

Napoleone!

SCARAMPI'S VOICE.

[_Within._]

Well? Can't you find it?

THE COUNTESS.

No.

A VOICE.

Look on the piano.

THE COUNTESS.

I must be off. Discuss our great design.

[_With a cry, as if she had found w