Cæsar—No, your highness. I took the liberty of mentioning it as a curiosity. . . .
Beatrice—You will only answer my questions.
Cæsar—Yes, your highness. And cold chicken.
Beatrice—What's that?
Cæsar—Cold chicken—after the beef.
Beatrice—What time will supper be served?
Cæsar—In twenty-four minutes, your highness. And an ice.
Beatrice—The menu is too cold for me. In my cup you will serve hot tea, without sugar.
Cæsar—I am afraid, your highness, that hot tea may be distinguishable from the cold bouillon . . . by the vapor.
Beatrice—You will see to it that the hot tea has no vapor.
Cæsar—I don't know just how that can be done, your highness, but it will be.
Beatrice—I shall expect it to be. [Cæsar steps back as Symphorosa re-enters.] Well?
Symphorosa—I signaled to her.
Beatrice—Yes.
Symphorosa—And she stood up immediately.
Beatrice—Good. Now go and see that Arsen puts those cold towels around his neck.
Symphorosa—What a perfect mother you are!
Beatrice—There is no other joy on earth.
