_Jödi_. I cannot lend you an umbrella, because I have lent mine to
the gardener's wife. Owls are roosting on the chimney-pots, and a
stickleback has jumped out of the pond. Hush, my Lord the Prince
approaches!

[_Prince PONSCH enters, bearing a stout staff, which he nurses
gloomily, like an infant; a hurricane is heard in the middle
distance; the waterpipe sobs strangely and then expires; a
blackbeetle comes out of a cupboard and runs uneasily about,
until a flash of lightning enters down the chimney and kills
it. PONSCH stands glaring at DJOË and the Princess._

_Djoë_ (_hastily_). There is going to be a storm. Do not forget what I
have uttered. Good evening!

[_He goes; the wind whistles a popular air through the
keyhole._

_Jödi_ (_nervously_). What an appalling evening! I have never seen the
like of such a sky.

_Ponsch_. There is something about you this evening--how beautiful you
are looking! Bring BEBBI-PONSCH.

_Jödi_ (_fetching the Infant Prince_). Here he is. Why do you look so
strangely at him?

_Bebbi-Ponsch_ (_a small, but important part_). Is Pa-a-par poo-oorly?
Won't he p'ay wiz me no mo-ore?