Mar. 'Tis useless—there is an inclosed court-yard below.
Man. It is in vain—this door resists all my efforts. I know not what to do.
[While Marguerite has gone upon platform.
Mar. Great Heaven! I see it all. [To Manuel, with restrained passion.] Marquis de Champcey!
Man. [Turns quickly.] My name!
Mar. [Slowly.] You boast a long ancestral descent. Pray tell me, sir, are you the first coward of your name?
Man. Madame!
Mar. [Violently.] It is you—you who have bribed this boy to imprison us here!
Man. Merciful Heavens!
Mar. Ah, I comprehend your purpose. I understand it all. To-morrow this accident will be noised abroad; the ever-ready tongue of scandal will be busy with my name, a name which, if less ancient than your own, is full as stainless, and you trust to my despair to make me yours! But this vile trick, which crowns all your base maneuvering, I will thwart. I tell you, sir, that I would incur the world's contempt, the cloister, anything—even death itself—rather than the disgrace, the ignominy, the shame, of uniting my life to yours!