Damas. Laugh at me!—laugh at a Colonel in the French army!—the fellow’s an impostor; I know he is. I’ll see if he understands fighting as well as he does Italian.—[Goes up to him, and aside.] Sir, you are a jackanapes.—Can you construe that?
Mel. No, sir; I never construe affronts in the presence of ladies; by-and-by I shall be happy to take a lesson—or give one.
Damas. I’ll find the occasion, never fear!
Mme. Deschap. Where are you going, cousin?
Damas. To correct my Italian. [Exit.
Beau. [to GLAVIS]. Let us after, and pacify him; he evidently suspects something.
Gla. Yes!—but my diamond ring!
Beau. And my box!—We are over-taxed fellow-subjects!—we must stop the supplies, and dethrone the prince.
Gla. Prince!—he ought to be heir-apparent to King Stork.
[Exeunt BEAUSEANT and GLAVIS.