Enter Geraldine.
Ger. (Tenderly embracing him) Ah! my dear, dear uncle! how am I rejoiced by a permission to visit you again; for four long days you have secluded yourself, and indeed I have been so distressed—but I will not speak of past anxieties now; war restores its hero to our vows; Florian returns to us—are not you quite happy, uncle?
De Val. Happy? I? my good child—do not mock me.
Ger. Nay, could I intend—
De Val. Well! let it pass; you it seems, my Geraldine, are really happy; your lips confess much, but your eyes still betray more—niece, you love my adopted Florian.
Ger. Love! fy, uncle—Oh yes, yes, I do certainly love him like a brother.
De Val. Something better.—Suppose I should offer this Florian to you as a husband
Ger. (looking down demurely.) I never presume to dispute my dear uncle’s commands.
De Val. Little equivocator! answer me strictly: do you not wish to become his wife?
Ger. Indeed, I never yet have asked my heart that question.