AMELIA.
No.
BARON.
Have you not dreamt at all to-night?
AMELIA.
Oh yes—I have dreamt of our chaplain, Mr. Anhalt.
BARON.
Ah ha! As if he stood before you and the Count to ask for the ring.
AMELIA.
No: not that—I dreamt we were all still in France, and he, my tutor, just going to take his leave of us for ever—I ’woke with the fright, and found my eyes full of tears.
BARON.
Psha! I want to know if you can love the Count. You saw him at the last ball we were at in France: when he capered round you; when he danced minuets; when he——. But I cannot say what his conversation was.
AMELIA.
Nor I either—I do not remember a syllable of it.
BARON.
No? Then I do not think you like him.
AMELIA.
I believe not.
BARON.
But I think it proper to acquaint you he is rich, and of great consequence: rich and of consequence; do you hear?