DE MAUPRAT. You're lucky! Still, were we a story higher, JULIE. Adrien, what have I done? Say, am I changed I do think that this weather is delightful! And what a prospect! (to De Beringhen) Oh! you popinjay! JULIE. He jests at me! he mocks me! yet I love him,' DE MAUPRAT (kissing her hand). With my whole heart I love you! Ay; Now, sir, go, And tell that to his majesty! Who ever JULIE. He says he loves me, And starts away, as if to say "I love you" Meant something very dreadful. Come, sit by me; (They sit down; as he pushes his chair back, she draws hers nearer.) JULIE. Why must this strange Messire de Beringhen DE MAUPRAT. Upon my soul I do, my Julie ! Send him for your bouquet, JULIE. Messire de Beringhen, I dropp'd my glove in the gardens by the fountain, Or the alcove, or-stay-no, by the statue Of Cupid; may I ask you to DE BERINGHEN. To send for it? Certainly (ringing a bell on the table). Andrè, Pierre (your rascals, how Do ye call them?) Enter servants. Ah-madame has dropp'd her glove Bring it. DE MAUPRAT. Did ever now one pair of shoulders Dear Julie, I'm busy-letters-visiters-the devil! I do beseech you leave me; I say, leave me. You are unkind. JULIE (weeping). [Exit. (As she goes out, Mauprat drops on one knee and kisses the hem of her mantle, unseen by her.) DE BERINGHEN. Ten million of apologies DE MAUPRAT. I'll not take one of them. I have, as yet, DE BERINGHEN. my rights. Oh! when you please. His majesty requests me, Of the Bastile. I should have had that honour DE MAUPRAT. I know the king can send me to the scaffold; DE BERINGHEN. What, my dear sir? DE MAUPRAT. Show you the door, My dear, dear sir; talk as I please, with whom A stouter gentleman than you, dear sir, DE BERINGHEN. What, almost in a passion! you will cool No form; you see I make myself at home. [Exit De Beringhen. DE MAUPRAT (going to the door through which Baradas had Baradas! count! passed). Enter Baradas. You spoke of snares, of vengeance Sharper than death; be plainer. BARADAS. What so clear? Richelieu has but two passions DE MAUPRAT. Richelieu! BARADAS. Yes! Ambiton and revenge; in you both blended. He placed her at the court, foresaw the rest: DE MAUPRAT. Merciful Heaven! The king! BARADAS. Such Cupids lend new plumes to Richelieu's wings; And vengeance by dishonour to his foe! DE MAUPRAT. Prove this. BARADAS. You have the proof, the royal letter: Your strange exemption from the general pardon, Known but to me and Richelieu; can you doubt Your friend to acquit your foe? The truth is glaring; Richelieu alone could tell the princely lover The tale which sells your life, or buys your honour! DE MAUPRAT. I see it all! Mock pardon, hurried nuptials, BARADAS. You yet shall crush his malice; Our plans are sure: Orleans is at our head; DE MAUPRAT. To-night? Oh Heaven! my marriage night! Revenge! BARADAS. What class of men, whose white lips do not curse* We, noble-born, where are our antique rights, And made our swords our law? where are they? trod DE MAUPRAT (impatiently). But Julie BARADAS (unheeding him). As yet the fiend that serves hath saved his power Of many victims dwells a warning moral * That in brackets omitted in representation. |