You’re a fine shot, sir.
I can see you’re not
one of those perfumed prancers in there.

- What do you say to a little hunting?
- I am standing guard on my mistress.

That one? She doesn’t need your
protection, by God. Fascinating creature.

I’m sure she’d rather
come hunting with us

than sit around arranging her flounces.
”One warm word from you and I live.
One brutal word and I die.”

”It doesn’t matter,
for I am not afraid of death any more.”

”I have already visited the beyond
in your music.”

- Will you take it to him?
- Why don’t you take it to him yourself?

I’ve been avoiding him all morning.
He’s had a poor first impression of me,
I fear.

Before I meet him again, I want him
to be convinced of my complete sincerity.

Well? What do you think?
Look, you know him.
How will he respond?

I can’t imagine any man resisting
this prose. It would melt the Alps.

But tell me,
why do you pounce on our poor Chopin?

My dear, he’s got one foot in the grave.
No, no.
We shall all be in our graves soon enough.
But Chopin is eternal.
The only permanent thing about him
is his cough.

"(Duke)" Ah.
- All right.
- Thank you, my friend.

Madame Sand, will you delight us
with your company on a hunt?

I must decline, Your Excellency.
My maid is fitting me for a dress
this afternoon.

A dress?
(piano transcription
of Beethoven’s Sixth continues)

(laughter and absorbed chatter)