Richard.
I"ve not had many yet. (_Shakes hands with him again and then turns to the others_.)
Beata.
Shall we have luncheon? Volkerlingk, you can join us when you"ve had your caviare. (Richard _makes a gesture refusing the hors-d"[oe]uvre_.)
Brachtmann (_aside to the_ Prince).
Well?
Prince.
Irreproachable, as usual.
Brachtmann.
Thank G.o.d! (_They all seat themselves_.)
Prince (_to_ Baron Ludwig).
I can"t make your brother out. You know him better than we do. Look at his face--what"s the matter with him?
Baron Ludwig.
We are such complicated machines, your Highness. It"s impossible to explain any one with a word.
Beata.
Take a hundred, then. (_With a short excited laugh_.) Life is long enough!
Kellinghausen (_to himself_).
Yes. Life is long enough.
Richard.
Instead of discussing my appearance I wish you would criticise my speech.
Prince.
What a _gourmet_ he is, Countess! He wants the disapproval of his friends to season the praise of his enemies!
Richard.
Now, then, Brachtmann?
Brachtmann.
Why, my dear fellow, if you insist--I must tell you frankly that I had hoped you would lay more stress on the view of marriage as a divine inst.i.tution.
Richard.
I have the greatest respect for that view of marriage, but I fear it might have invalidated the scientific side of my argument. What do you say, Prince?
Prince.
And what if it did? It"s much more gratifying to our vanity to think ourselves the objects of divine solicitude than the victims of natural law. (Brachtmann _and_ Baron Ludwig _protest_. Beata _laughs_.)
Kellinghausen.
Really, Usingen----!
Baron Ludwig.
Isn"t your Highnesses scepticism a little overdone? Surely society has made us the natural protectors of the social order. The order may change with the times--all we ask is that it should maintain the moral balance of power. (Beata _laughs_.) You are amused, Countess?
Beata (_still laughing_).
I was only laughing to think how often I"d heard it before--the moral balance of power, and all the rest! I"m sure our ancestors sang the same song when they threw their victims to Moloch. And our souls are still thrown by the million to the Moloch of social expediency. We are all expected to sacrifice our personal happiness to the welfare of the race! (_She laughs excitedly_.)
Kellinghausen (_almost threateningly_).
Beata!
Baron Ludwig.
Countess, you are conjuring up a phantom.
Beata.
It may be a phantom, but it has us by the throat.--(_To_ Richard.) What are you thinking of, Volkerlingk? You are not going to refuse our celebrated game-pie?
Richard.
I beg your pardon. I wasn"t thinking. (_He helps himself to the dish_.)
Beata.
You must know that that pie is an invention of my own!
Prince.
Dear me, Countess, are you at home in every branch of learning?
Beata.
Oh, I had the making of a great cook in me. I believe I"m the last of the old school--the model housekeeper, the domestic wife, the high-priestess of the family! (_She goes on laughing excitedly and_ Michael _nervously echoes her laugh_.)