Xaint. Hast seen her?
Alen. I have.
Xaint. Describe her: is she young?
Alen. Of that sweet age
When girlish smiles assume the dignity
Which conscious womanhood doth first confer:
The rose just blushing to the full.
Xaint. Rustic,
No doubt, and ignorant.
Alen. Her soul hath stamped her manner
Simple, yet dignified—lofty, yet meek.
Xaint. Ta'en captive—grown poetic.
Alen. Age like mine
Has little thought of love or poesy;
But yet there is a charm where loveliness
Meets virtue, which it were a shame to slight.
The snow which crowns the old man's head should make
His reason cool, yet need not chill his heart.
But come—the council must be now assembled.
Xaint. One question more—is Richemont here?
Alen. Not he,
Nor e'en desired. The hate the Dauphin bears him
Continues undiminished.