Madelon. Any thing with you, La Gloire. I warrant us, we should be happy enough. Ay, and I could be useful too. I could pack your knapsack; sing canzonets with you, to make us merry on a day's march; mix in the soldier's dance upon occasion; and, at sun-set, I would dress up our little tent, as neat as any captain's in the field: then, at supper, La Gloire, we should be as cheerful!——
La Gloire. Now could I cut my tongue out for what I have said!—Cuff me; slap my face, Madelon; then kiss me, and forgive me: and, if ever I bestride my great war-horse again, and let him run away with me, and trample over the heart of my best friends, I wish he may kick me off, and break my neck in a ditch for my pains.—But—what—ha! ha!—what should we do with our children, Madelon?
Madelon. Ah! mon Dieu! I had forgot that:—but if your endeavours be honest, La Gloire, Providence will take care of them, I warrant you.
DUETT. LA GLOIRE AND MADELON.
Madelon. Could you to battle march away,
And leave me here complaining?
I'm sure 'twould break my heart to stay,
When you are gone campaigning.
Ah! non, non, non!