[Presenting them.
Bar. That you may do yourself.
[Exit.
Stra. The last anxious moment of my life draws near. I shall see her once again; I shall see her, on whom my soul doats. Is this the language of an injured husband? What is this principle which we call honour? Is it a feeling of the heart, or a quibble in the brain? I must be resolute: it cannot now be otherwise. Let me speak solemnly, yet mildly; and beware that nothing of reproach escape my lips. Yes, her penitence is real. She shall not be obliged to live in mean dependence: she shall be mistress of herself, she shall— [Looks round and shudders.] Ha! they come. Awake, insulted pride! Protect me, injured honour!
Enter Mrs. Haller, Countess, and Baron.
Mrs. H. [Advances slowly, and in a tremour. Countess attempts to support her.] Leave me now, I beseech you. [Approaches the Stranger, who, with averted countenance, and in extreme agitation, awaits her address.] My lord!
Stra. [With gentle tremulous utterance, and face still turned away.] What would you with me, Adelaide?
Mrs. H. [Much agitated.] No—for Heaven's sake! I was not prepared for this—Adelaide!—No, no. For Heaven's sake!—Harsh tones alone are suited to a culprit's ear.
Stra. [Endeavouring to give his voice firmness.] Well, madam!
Mrs. H. Oh! if you will ease my heart, if you will spare and pity me, use reproaches.