Bar. Incomparable woman! I go to my friend—perhaps, for the last time! Have you not one word to send him?
Mrs. H. Yes, I have two requests to make. Often when, in excess of grief, I have despaired of every consolation, I have thought I should be easier if I might behold my husband once again, acknowledge my injustice to him, and take a gentle leave of him for ever. This, therefore, is my first request—a conversation for a few short minutes, if he does not quite abhor the sight of me. My second request is—Oh—not to see, but to hear some account of my poor children.
Bar. If humanity and friendship can avail, he will not for a moment delay your wishes.
Countess. Heaven be with you.
Mrs. H. And my prayers.
[Exit Baron.
Countess. Come, my friend, come into the air, till he returns with hope and consolation.
Mrs. H. Oh, my heart! How art thou afflicted! My husband! My little ones! Past joys and future fears—Oh, dearest madam, there are moments in which we live years! Moments, which steal the roses from the cheek of health, and plough deep furrows in the brow of youth.
Countess. Banish these sad reflections. Come, let us walk. The sun will set soon; let nature's beauties dissipate anxiety.
Mrs. H. Alas! Yes, the setting sun is a proper scene for me.