it shines in its true value; and so I proudly proclaim that it is more brilliant than the sun, and that its brilliance is its own. . . . [Puts his hand on his chest.] Its own!
Albert—[Smiling.] Possibly, Professor. It seems I do not understand these things.
Agi—[Decidedly.] No, your highness.
Beatrice—[To Symphorosa in a harrowed whisper.] I can't bear it any longer.
Albert—Charming! Charming! At last a man who tells me to my face that there is something I do not understand.
Agi—[Stubbornly.] No, your highness doesn't know anything about it.
Albert—[Forcing himself to seem pleased.] In twenty years I haven't heard anyone so outspoken. Professor, I admire you not only as an astronomer, but as a man. I am charmed with your candor.
Agi—[As if offended.] It makes no difference to me whether you like it or not.
Albert—[Jovially.] There's candor for you! Charming! I'm really enjoying myself here.
Beatrice—[Weakly.] Oh! [She rises suddenly, sways. General consternation.]
Albert—[Puts down his glass.] What's the matter, Aunt Beatrice? [He rises.] Aunt Beatrice! Tu te trouves mal?
Beatrice—[Weakly.] My head . . . all of a
