Mel. A letter! from her perhaps--who sent thee?
Servant. Why, Monsieur--I mean Citizen--Beauseant, who stops to dine at the Golden Lion, on his way to his chateau.
"Young man, I know thy secret--thou lovest above thy station: if thou hast wit, courage, and discretion, I can secure to thee the realization of thy most sanguine hopes; and the sole condition I ask in return is, that thou shalt be steadfast to thine own ends. I shall demand from thee a solemn oath to marry her whom thou lovest; to bear her to thine home on thy wedding night. I am serious--if thou wouldst learn more, lose not a moment, but follow the bearer of this letter to thy friend and patron,--CHARLES BEAUSEANT."
Mel. Can I believe my eyes? Are our own passions the sorcerers that raise up for us spirits of good or evil? I will go instantly.
Mel. "Marry her whom thou lovest,"--"bear her to thine own home."-- Oh, revenge and love; which of you is the stronger?--[Gazing on the picture.] Sweet face, thou smilest on me from the canvas: weak fool that I am, do I then love her still? No, it is the vision of my own romance that I have worshipped: it is the reality to which I bring scorn for scorn. Adieu, mother: I will return anon. My brain reels--the earth swims before me.--[Looks again at the letter.] No, it is not a mockery; I do not dream! [Exit.
The Gardens of M. DESCHAPPELLEs' house at Lyons--the house seen at the back of the stage.
Beau. Well, what think you of my plot? Has it not succeeded to a miracle? The instant that I introduced his Highness the Prince of Como to the pompous mother and the scornful daughter, it was all over with them: he came--he saw--he conquered: and, though it is not many days since he arrived, they have already promised him the hand of Pauline.
Gla. It is lucky, though, that you told them his highness travelled incognito, for fear the Directory (who are not very fond of princes) should lay him by the heels; for he has a wonderful wish to keep up his rank, and scatters our gold about with as much coolness as if he were watering his own flower-pots.
Beau. True, he is damnably extravagant; I think the sly dog does it out of malice. How ever, it must be owned that he reflects credit on his loyal subjects, and makes a very pretty figure in his fine clothes, with my diamond snuff-box.