Count—Tell me . . . isn't this Juhasz in love with you?
Paula—[In honest amazement.] How can you say such a thing? It is nothing but his goodness, his exaggerated sense of gratitude. He thinks he owes me his aid and his protection because I followed him here into exile.
Count—I'll exile him for good this time. Wait and see.
Paula—You won't be unkind to him . . . please . . . don't be.
Count—Don't worry. . . . I'll be absolutely just with him. I'll simply confront him with the case of this fellow Mate whom he can't bring himself to dismiss. And I'll say to him, "Now, it's Mate or you."
And as it is perfectly certain that he will never be able to harden his heart to the point of dismissing anyone, he'll have no alternative but to go himself. And then . . . [ardently] my happiness begins . . . and yours, Paula . . . for you are my last love . . . and last love is like the setting sun . . . full of fire and gold. . . . [He approaches her ardently. Juhasz enters at left, a big book under his arm.]
Juhasz—The swine aren't entered in the books.
Count—Oh!. . . There's a limit to everything! [Goes to the door at left, calling angrily.] Mr. Santha! Didn't I say I was not to be disturbed
