Lafitte, a play in prologue and four acts

by Lucile Rutland; Lucie Levéque Ayres

LAF. Thank God!

MAR. He would not let me be a nun, Jean. He brought me here to you. (Lafitte takes his hat off, lets the hand holding it fall to his side and with his other arm around Mariana; lifts his head to heaven.) Jean—

LAF. Yes?

MAR. I.... (passes her hand across her forehead in bewildered anguish.) Oh, I have had such horrible dreams!... They were dreams?

LAF. (soothingly.) Dreams, sweetheart.

MAR. My uncle ... my brother ... I dreamed they were killed!

LAF. (lovingly.) Did you not think sometimes I was dead?

MAR. Yes.

LAF. Death cannot claim those you love.