Gla. Really, my dear Beauseant, consider that I have promised to spend a day or two with you at your chateau, that I am quite at your mercy for my entertainment,--and yet you are as silent and as gloomy as a mute at a funeral, or an Englishman at a party of pleasure.
Beau. Bear with me!--the fact is that I am miserable.
Gla. You--the richest and gayest bachelor in Lyons?
Beau. It is because I am a bachelor that I am miserable.--Thou knowest Pauline--the only daughter of the rich merchant, Mons. Deschappelles?
Gla. Know her?--who does not?--as pretty as Venus, and as proud as Juno.
Beau. Her taste is worse than her pride.--[Drawing himself up.] Know, Glavis, she has actually refused me!
Gla. [aside]. So she has me!--very consoling! In all cases of heart-ache, the application of another man's disappointment draws out the pain and allays the irritation.--[Aloud.] Refused you! and wherefore?
Beau. I know not, unless it be because the Revolution swept away my father's title of Marquis,--and she will not marry a commoner. Now, as we have no noblemen left in France,--as we are all citizens and equals, she can only hope that, in spite of the war, some English Milord or German Count will risk his life, by coming to Lyons, that this fille du Roturier may condescend to accept him. Refused me, and with scorn!--By Heaven, I'll not submit to it tamely:--I'm in a perfect fever of mortification and rage.--Refuse me, indeed!
Gla. Be comforted, my dear fellow,--I will tell you a secret. For the same reason she refused ME!
Beau. You!--that's a very different matter! But give me your hand, Glavis,--we'll think of some plan to humble her. Mille diables! I should like to see her married to a strolling player!
Enter Landlord and his Daughter from the Inn.
Land. Your servant, citizen Beauseant,--servant, Sir. Perhaps you will take dinner before you proceed to your chateau; our larder is most plentifully supplied.
Gla. Nor I. Still it is bad travelling on an empty stomach. What have you got? [Takes and looks over the bill of fare.]
[Shout without.] "Long live the Prince!--Long live the Prince!"
Beau. The Prince!--what Prince is that? I thought we had no princes left in France.
Land. Ha, ha! the lads always call him Prince. He has just won the prize in the shooting-match, and they are taking him home in triumph.