Damas. There shall not be a forlorn hope without thee!
Mel. There is my hand!--mother, your blessing. I shall see you again,--a better man than a prince,--a man who has bought the right to high thoughts by brave deeds. And thou!--thou! so wildly worshipped, so guiltily betrayed, all is not yet lost!--for thy memory, at least, must be mine till death! If I live, the name of him thou hast once loved shall not rest dishonored;--if I fall, amidst the carnage and the roar of battle, my soul will fly back to thee, and love shall share with death my last sigh!--More--more would I speak to thee!--to pray!--to bless! But no; When I am less unworthy I will utter it to Heaven!--I cannot trust myself to [turning to DESCHAPPELLES] Your pardon, sir; they are my last words Farewell! [Exit.
Damas. I will go after him.--France will thank me for this.
Pauline [starting from her father's arms]. Claude!--Claude!--my husband!
Two years and a half from the date of Act IV.
First Officer. Well, here we are at Lyons, with gallant old Damas: it is his native place.
Second Officer. Yes; he has gained a step in the army since he was here last. The Lyonnese ought to be very proud of stout General Damas.
Third Officer. Promotion is quick in the French army. This mysterious Morier,--the hero of Lodi, and the favorite of the commander-in-chief,--has risen to a colonel's rank to two years and a half. Enter DAMAS, as a General.
Damas. Good morrow, gentlemen; I hope you will amuse yourselves during our short stay at Lyons. It is a fine city: improved since I left it. Ah! it is a pleasure to grow old, when the years that bring decay to ourselves do but ripen the prosperity of our country. You have not met with Morier?
First Officer. No: we were just speaking of him.
Second Officer. Pray, general, can you tell us who this Morier really is?
Damas. Is!--why a colonel in the French army.
Third Officer. True. But what was he at first?
Damas. At first? Why a baby in long clothes, I suppose.
First Officer. Ha, ha! Ever facetious, general.
Second Officer. [to Third]. The general is sore upon this point; you will only chafe him.--Any commands, general?
Damas. None. Good day to you. [Exeunt Second and Third Officers.
Damas. Our comrades are very inquisitive. Poor Morier is the subject of a vast deal of curiosity.