_Dal._ It is not the loss of fortune that afflicts me; a sentiment more worthy of you oppresses me--my honour. Can you bear the disgrace of a nephew? I ask nothing of you; if I can preserve my reputation, I give you my word, for myself and my wife, that want shall have no terrors for us, if, in the midst of our misery, we can have the consolation of an unsullied character, our mutual love, and your affection and esteem.
_Ger._ Wretched man! you deserve--but I am weak; this foolish regard for blood speaks in favour of this ingrate. Rise, sir; I will pay your debts, and perhaps place you in a situation to contract others.
_Dal._ [_Moved._] Ah, no, my uncle! I promise you, you shall see in my conduct hereafter--
_Ger._ What conduct, inconsiderate man? That of an infatuated husband who suffers himself to be guided by the caprices of his wife, a vain, presumptuous, thoughtless woman--
_Dal._ No, I swear to you, my wife is not in fault; you do not know her.
_Ger._ [_Still more excited._] You defend her? You maintain what is false in my presence? Take care! but a little more, and on account of your wife I will retract my promise; yes, yes, I will retract it--you shall have nothing of mine. Your wife!--I cannot bear her. I will not see her.
_Mad._ Ah, sir! you think me the cause of all the misfortunes of your nephew; it is right that I alone should bear the punishment. The ignorance in which I have lived till now, I see, is not a sufficient excuse in your eyes. Young, inexperienced, I have suffered myself to be guided by a husband who loved me. The world had attractions for me; evil examples seduced me. I was satisfied, and thought myself happy, but I am guilty in appearance, and that is enough. That my husband may be worthy of your kindness, I submit to your fatal decree. I will withdraw from your presence, yet I ask one favour of you: moderate your anger against me; pardon me--my youth--have compassion on my husband, whom too much love--
_Ger._ Ah, Madame, perhaps you think to overcome me?
_Mad._ Oh, Heaven! Is there no hope? Ah, my dear Dalancourt, I have then ruined you! I die. [_Falls on a sofa._]
_Ger._ [_Disturbed, moved with tenderness._] Hallo! who's there? Martuccia!
_Ger._ Look there--quick--go--see to her; do something for her assistance.