Des. An employment to suit a man of your rank—
Man. Oh, my dear Doctor—rank—
Des. Well, well, of your education, then, is not easily found. Now, mark what I am going to say, and consider it well, before you come to a hasty conclusion. There is, among my patients, a retired merchant, one who has been able, by indefatigable industry in trade, to amass a very handsome fortune. His daughter, an only a child, and of course, the father's darling, has, by chance, become acquainted with the state of your affairs. Now, I have reason to know, (being on very confidential terms with them.) I say I have reason to know that this girl, ambitious, handsome, rich, and accomplished, would be happy to share your title. I have the father's consent, and only await the word from you to—
Man. Dr. Desmarets, my name is neither for sale, or to let.
Des. Humph! Do you know, my lord, that you bear a remarkable resemblance to your poor mother?
Man. You must be mistaken, sir. I have always been told that I was more like my father.
Des. Not a bit! The mother, the mother, sir, in every feature. But, bless me, it's near eleven o'clock and I have a most particular appointment. As you decline considering the proposal I have made, we must think of something else. Au revoir. [Aside.] The mother—eyes, nose, mouth. What the devil made that stupid old woman say he was like his father?
[Exit C.
Man. He's a kind man, though a little eccentric, and apart from his professional duty, seems actuated by a sincere desire to serve me, and yet—and yet I could not bring myself to ask his charity. Hunger—starvation—are not, then, mere empty words. Oh! if I do sin in my pride, I am punished, for I suffer much. This is the second day without food. Why, after all, I could go into any Restaurant and dine, for I am well enough known. I could say I had forgotten my purse—have done so without scruple in happier times, but then I had the means to pay, and now—no, no, my sister, not for life, not even for thee, will I descend to lie and cheat. How weak I am; this comes too soon upon my long sickness. If I could but sleep and so forget my agony. And there are human creatures who suffer every day as I do now. My sister, my little sister, I seem to see thy dear face looking down upon me, and bidding me be comforted. [Music.] Thou, at least, shall never suffer. But for those who hear their cries of hunger repeated from the mouths of starving little ones, well, well, God comfort them; I will not re—Oh—holy—charity—for—those—who—my sister—my—
Manuel gradually falls asleep. Madame Vauberger enters with a Tray containing a dish or two with eatables, a plate, &c. She watches Manuel carefully while she deposits the Tray on the chimney-piece and lays a cloth on the table. Manuel awakes as she goes back to the chimney-piece for tray.