JEAN. Unfortunately, no. He is only going through—will be leaving in the early morning for America. But are you not glad, sweetheart, that he is here to marry us?
MAR. Yes.
JEAN. I had almost forgotten. I must get a ring.
MAR. (touching the ring on his left hand) This will do.
JEAN. (taking it off) What! This little silver thing? It is all battered.
MAR. (taking it from him) But more precious so than if chased by the finest workers of France; bent, and nearly broken, and stained with blood, it is an earnest of my lover’s valor; of the fearless worth that won him his Emperor’s commendation. (she kisses the ring, and slips it on her finger)
JEAN. Did I not tell you, sweetheart, that your thoughts, like the sun’s rays, beautify even the smallest things? Now listen. To-night, whenever my best opportunity offers, I shall come to you. I shall make my presence known by softly singing the refrain of “Mon Coeur a Toi.” If all be well, come down to me in the garden.
MAR. Oh, Jean, there is a great white tempest in my soul! It awes me.
JEAN. There is a greater one it seems to me in mine, but it does not awe me. It builds me—up to heaven. For the last time, my precious one, good-by.