Cha. (confused). But I absolutely refuse to—
Luc. Ah, if you refuse me, I shall ask you to give me back my sprig of May.
Cha. (kneeling). Never. I will keep it to the last moment of my life, and with it the hand I now hold.
[Sinks on his knee. Door opens.
Luc. Get up: here’s some one coming.
Enter Prichard, R. 2 E.
Pri. Madam, sir, the postilions are harnessed: I mean the horses.
Cha. Confound that landlord!—Come here, landlord. (Takes Pri. up C.) Did you ever hear that this hotel of yours was infected with a malady of the most infectious character?
Pri. Sir, I beg most distinctly to state that—
Cha. Landlord, you’re very drunk.