Don't weep, madam.
Pauline. So, as you were saying--go on.
Widow. Oh, I cannot excuse him, ma'am--he was not in his right senses.
Pauline. But he always--always [sobbing] loved--loved me then?
Widow. He thought of nothing else. See here--he learnt to paint that he might take your likeness [uncovers the picture]. But that's all over now--I trust you have cured him of his folly;--but, dear heart, you have had no breakfast!
Pauline. I can't take anything--don't trouble yourself.
Widow. Nay, madam, be persuaded; a little coffee will refresh you. Our milk and eggs are excellent. I will get out Claude's coffee-cup-- It is of real Sevres; he saved up all his money to buy it three years ago, because the name of Pauline was inscribed on it.
Pauline. Three years ago! Poor Claude!--Thank you; I think I will have some coffee. Oh! if he were but a poor gentleman, even a merchant: but a gardener's son--and what a home!--Oh no,--it is too dreadful!
They seat themselves at the table, BEAUSEANT opens the lattice and looks in.
Beau. So--so--the coast is clear! I saw Claude in the lane-- I shall have an excellent opportunity.Shuts the lattice and knocks at the door.
Pauline. [starting]. Can it be my father?--he has not sent for-- him yet? No, he cannot be in such a hurry to get rid of me.
Widow. It is not time for your father to arrive yet; it must be some neighbor.
Pauline. Don't admit any one.
[Widow opens the door, BEAUSEANT pushes her aside and enters. Ha! Heavens! that hateful Beauseant! This is indeed bitter!
Beau. Good morning, madam! O widow, your son begs you will have the goodness to go to him in the village he wants to speak to you on particular business; you'll find him at the inn, or the grocer's shop, or the baker's, or at some other friend's of your family--make haste.
Pauline. Don't leave me, mother!--don't leave me.
Beau. [with great respect]. Be not alarmed, madam. Believe me your friend--your servant.
Pauline. Sir, I have no fear of you, even in this house! Go, madam, if your son wishes it; I will not contradict his commands whilst, at least he has still the right to be obeyed.
Widow. I don't understand this; however, I sha'n't be long gone. [Exit.
Pauline. Sir, I divine the object of your visit--you wish to exult in the humiliation of one who humbled you. Be it so; I am prepared to endure all--even your presence!
Beau. You mistake me, madam--Pauline, you mistake me! I come to lay my fortune at your feet. You must already be disenchanted with this impostor; these walls are not worthy to be hallowed by your beauty! Shall that form be clasped in the arms of a base-born peasant? Beloved, beautiful Pauline! fly with me--my carriage waits without-- I will bear you to a home more meet for your reception. Wealth, luxury, station--all shall yet be yours. I forget your past disdain--I remember only your beauty and my unconquerable love!
Pauline. Sir! leave this house--it is humble: but a husband's roof, however lowly, is, in the eyes of God and man, the temple of a wife's honor! Know that I would rather starve--yes--with him who has betrayed me, than accept your lawful hand, even were you the prince whose name he bore.--Go.
Beau. What! is not your pride humbled yet?
Pauline. Sir, what was pride in prosperity in affliction becomes virtue.
Beau. Look round: these rugged floors--these homely walls-- this wretched struggle of poverty for comfort--think of this! and contrast with such a picture the refinement, the luxury, the pomp, that the wealthiest gentleman of Lyons offers to the loveliest lady. Ah, hear me!
Pauline. Oh! my father!--why did I leave you?--why am I thus friendless? Sir, you see before you a betrayed, injured, miserable woman!-- respect her anguish
[MELNOTTE opens the door silently, and pauses at the threshold.
Beau. No! let me rather thus console it; let me snatch from those lips one breath of that fragrance which never should be wasted on the low churl thy husband.
Pauline. Help! Claude!--Claude!--Have I no protector?'
Beau. Be silent! [showing a pistol.] See, I do not come unprepared even for violence. I will brave all things--thy husband and all his race-- for thy sake. Thus, then, I clasp thee!
Mel. [dashing him to the other end of the stage]. Pauline--look up, Pauline! thou art safe.
Beau. [levelling his pistol]. Dare you thus insult a man of my birth, ruffian?
Pauline. Oh, spare him--spare my husband!--Beauseant--Claude--no-- no [faints].
Mel. Miserable trickster! shame upon you! brave devices to terrify a woman! Coward!--you tremble--you have outraged the laws--you know that your weapon is harmless--you have the courage of the mountebank, not the bravo!--Pauline, there is no danger.
Beau. I wish thou wert a gentleman--as it is, thou art beneath me.-- Good day, and a happy honeymoon.--[Aside.] I will not die till I am avenged. [Exit.
Mel. I hold her in these arms--the last embrace Never, ah never more, shall this dear head Be pillow'd on the heart that should have shelter'd And has betray'd!--Soft--soft! one kiss--poor wretch! No scorn on that pale lip forbids me now! One kiss--so ends all record of my crime! It is the seal upon the tomb of hope, By which, like some lost, sorrowing angel, sits Sad memory evermore; she breathes--she moves She wakes to scorn, to hate, but not to shudder Beneath the touch of my abhorred love. Places her on a seat.