[Exit.
Man. Married—married—and to him. Well, and why not? Fool that I am! Despite of all that should preserve and fence my heart as with a wall of steel, from every impulse which could induce forgetfulness of my bitter lot, and the one sacred object of my life, still will that coward heart indulge in dreams—wild dreams of one day laying its most precious offerings at the feet which would but spurn them.
Enter M'lle Helouin, with basket.
But I will conquer yet, and if the struggle be hard, the victory will be the more worthy.
Mlle H. [Aside.] He is alone. Hitherto, I have kept his secret well; whether I will continue silent, depends upon himself. Courage, and the poor hireling may yet be a Marchioness. [Comes down to him.] Oh! Monsieur Manuel, how beautiful that is! You see, while you have been painting the woods, I have been gathering flowers. You know we have a ball to-night.
Man. Indeed? I was not aware of it.
Mlle H. You positively don't seem to know or care about anything that goes on. You are worse than indifferent, you are unsociable—
Man. Pardon me, not unsociable. But I know my station, and think it better not to risk being reminded of it.
Mlle H. [After a pause.] Monsieur Manuel—
Man. Mademoiselle—