eign.

THE DUKE.

My brain's not ripe.

THE COUNTESS.

The crown's enough to ripen any brain.

THE DUKE.

The crown of light, shed by the midnight lamp.

THE YOUNG MAN.

It's such a chance!

THE DUKE.

I beg your pardon? "Chance"?
Is this the tailor reappearing?

THE COUNTESS.

Yet--

THE DUKE.

I will be honest in default of genius.
I only ask three hundred wakeful nights.

THE YOUNG MAN.

But this refusal will confirm the rumors.

THE COUNTESS.

They say you've never really been of us.

THE YOUNG MAN.

You are Young France: you're called Old Austria.

THE COUNTESS.

They say your mind is being weakened.

THE YOUNG MAN.

Yes!
They say you're cheated, even in your studies.

THE COUNTESS.

They say you do not know your father's history.

THE DUKE.

Do they say that?

THE YOUNG MAN.

What shall we answer them?

THE DUKE.

Answer them thus--

[_Enter_ DIETRICHSTEIN.]

Dear Count!

DIETRICHSTEIN.

'Tis Obenaus.

THE DUKE.

Ah! for my history lesson! Let him come.

[DIETRICHSTEIN _goes out. The_ DUKE _points to
the clothes scattered about._]

Spend as much time as possible in packing,
And try to get forgotten in your corner.

[_Seeing_ DIETRICHSTEIN _come in with_ BARON VON
OBENAUS.]

Good-day, dear Baron.

[_Carelessly to the_ YOUNG MAN _and the_ COUNTESS,
_pointing to the screen._]

Finish over there.

[_To_ OBENAUS.]

My tailor.

OBENAUS.

Ah?

THE DUKE.

My mother's fitter.

OBENAUS.

Yes?

THE DUKE.

Will they disturb you?

OBENAUS.

[_Who has seated himself behind the table with_ DIETRICHSTEIN.]

Not at all, my Lord.

THE DUKE.

[_Who sits facing them, sharpening a pencil._]

I'm all attention. Let me sharpen this
To note a date, or jot down an idea.

OBENAUS.

We'll take our work up where we last left off.
Eighteen hundred and five, I think?

THE DUKE.

[_Busy with his pencil._] Exactly.

OBENAUS.

In eighteen hundred and six--

THE DUKE.

Did no event
Make that year memorable?

OBENAUS.

Which, my Lord?

THE