Pauline. [starting]. Can it be my father?—he has not sent for—him yet? No, he cannot be in such a hurry to get rid of me.
Widow. It is not time for your father to arrive yet; it must be some neighbor.
Pauline. Don’t admit any one.
[Widow opens the door, BEAUSEANT pushes her aside and enters. Ha! Heavens! that hateful Beauseant! This is indeed bitter!
Beau. Good morning, madam! O widow, your son begs you will have the goodness to go to him in the village he wants to speak to you on particular business; you’ll find him at the inn, or the grocer’s shop, or the baker’s, or at some other friend’s of your family—make haste.
Pauline. Don’t leave me, mother!—don’t leave me.
Beau. [with great respect]. Be not alarmed, madam. Believe me your friend—your servant.
Pauline. Sir, I have no fear of you, even in this house! Go, madam, if your son wishes it; I will not contradict his commands whilst, at least he has still the right to be obeyed.
Widow. I don’t understand this; however, I sha’n’t be long gone. [Exit.
Pauline. Sir, I divine the object of your visit—you wish to exult in the humiliation of one who humbled you. Be it so; I am prepared to endure all—even your presence!