Widow
Oh, no. I will never have another except you.
Bramble
Bah! Never have another—
Widow
No, no, husband, no.
Bramble She trembles and calls me her husband. She fears the Countess. There's only me here—don't be afraid. Follow me.
Widow
Ha—a, a, a—
Bramble (taking her hand)
Where are you then?
Widow (fainting)
Ah.
Bramble
Don't be afraid—it's me who's got your hand.
Widow
I know it's you.
Bramble Yes,—while you call me your husband, you will be my wife. You will love me a little—right? Hey—modesty renders her silent. Hmm. How much more delightful this hand is to kiss than that of my late wife. Hers was rough, this is soft. But don't lose any time. Come with me. (pulling her) What is it? What's wrong?