Pauline. I am reconciled to my doom.
Beau. Doom is a harsh word, sweet lady.
Pauline [aside.] This man must have some mercy—his heart cannot be marble. [Aloud.] Oh, sir, be just—be generous! Seize a noble triumph—a great revenge! Save the father, and spare the child.
Beau. [aside.] joy—joy alike to my hatred and my passion! The haughty Pauline is at last my suppliant. [Aloud.] You ask from me what I have not the sublime virtue to grant—a virtue reserved only for the gardener’s son! I cannot forego my hopes in the moment of their fulfilment! I adhere to the contract—your father’s ruin or your hand.
Pauline. Then all is over. Sir, I have decided.
[The clock strikes one.
Enter DAMAS and MELNOTTE.
Damas. Your servant, cousin Deschappelles. Let me introduce Colonel Morier.
Mme. Deschap. [curtsying very low]. What, the celebrated hero? This is, indeed, an honor! [MELNOTTE bows, and remains in the background.
Damas [to Pauline]. My little cousin, I congratulate you. What, no smile—no blush? You are going to be divorced from poor Melnotte, and marry this rich gentleman. You ought to be excessively happy!