Sav. Ha! ha! ha!—Upon my soul, I must beg your pardon; I have not eaten of the Italian Princess's box of sweetmeats, sent by her own page; and yet I am as mad as Doricourt, ha! ha! ha!
Mrs. Rack. So it appears—What can all this mean?
Sav. Why, Madam, he is at present in his perfect senses; but he'll lose 'em in ten minutes, through joy.—The madness was only a feint, to avoid marrying Miss Hardy, ha! ha! ha!—I'll carry him the intelligence directly. (Going.)
Mrs. Rack. Not for worlds. I owe him revenge, now, for what he has made us suffer. You must promise not to divulge a syllable I have told you; and when Doricourt is summoned to Mr. Hardy's, prevail on him to come—madness, and all.
Lady Fran. Pray do. I should like to see him shewing off, now I am in the secret.
Sav. You must be obeyed; though 'tis inhuman to conceal his happiness.
Mrs. Rack. I am going home; so I'll set you down at his lodgings, and acquaint you, by the way, with our whole scheme. Allons!
Sav. I attend you (leading her out.)
Mrs. Rack. You won't fail us?
[Exit Saville, and Mrs. Racket.