Yes, too stupid sometimes to know when they're beaten.
But I grant that your brains are not English. You see, though
your grandfather was an Englishman, your grandmother was--what?
A Frenchwoman?
LADY. Oh, no. An Irishwoman.
NAPOLEON (quickly). Irish! (Thoughtfully.) Yes: I forgot the
Irish. An English army led by an Irish general: that might be a
match for a French army led by an Italian general. (He pauses,
and adds, half jestingly, half moodily) At all events, YOU have
beaten me; and what beats a man first will beat him last. (He
goes meditatively into the moonlit vineyard and looks up. She
steals out after him. She ventures to rest her hand on his
shoulder, overcome by the beauty of the night and emboldened by
its obscurity.)
LADY (softly). What are you looking at?
NAPOLEON (pointing up). My star.
LADY. You believe in that?
NAPOLEON. I do. (They look at it for a moment, she leaning a
little on his shoulder.)
LADY. Do you know that the English say that a man's star is not
complete without a woman's garter?
NAPOLEON (scandalized--abruptly shaking her off and coming back
into the room).
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