Agi—Because your highness believes in miracles, too. . . . You believe my cold and impassive face . . . cold and impassive . . . even when it is slapped.
Alexandra—[In surprise.] Is your face slapped?
Agi—Every day.
Alexandra—Who slaps your face? [He does not answer.] Who? Do we? Do I? [He nods his head.] Without knowing it?
Agi—They are the worst slaps of all.
Alexandra—I must say . . . this is more mysterious than the stars. Do I hurt you?
Agi—Every day your highness looks upon a miracle. A man's face, his voice, all his outward appearance remain calm and unruffled . . . while inwardly he burns. And you never ask for the explanation of the miracle.
Alexandra—The explanation?
Agi—[With rising passion.] Why does your highness suppose I endure it all? Why do I go on teaching, humbly, silently and submissively? Why do I stifle my individuality? Why am I here at all? [Albert enters at left with two ladies.]
Alexandra—I never thought
Albert—[Good-humoredly interrupts.] An ideal daughter of the house! Before the concert she looks after the musicians, and before supper she looks after the table. Her watchful eye is everywhere.
