De Valmont suddenly returns and embraces Geraldine.
De Val. Geraldine! dear child, forgive me! my violence has terrified your gentle nature. I would not pain you, love, for worlds; but I am not always master of myself, and my passions will sometimes break forth rebellious to my reason; pity and forgive the infirmities of grief.
Ger. Ah! Sir. (Attempts to kneel.)
De Val. (Preventing her, and kissing her forehead.) Bless you, my good and innocent child; nay, do not speak to me, my happiness is lost forever, but I can pray for yours. Bless you, my child! bless you ever. Breaks from her, and exit.
Ger. My happiness! ah! if the exalted virtues of a soul like yours, my uncle, despair of the capricious boon, how shall the undeserving Geraldine presume to hope?
Enter Rosabelle.
Ros. Oh! my lady, such news, he’s arrived, he’s in the hall.
Ger. My Florian?
Ros. No, lady, not your Florian, but my L’Eclair, not quite so great a hero as his master to be sure, but yet a real, proper, mettlesome soldier every inch; he looks about him among the men so fierce and so warlike; then with the women, he’s so impudent, and so audacious;—oh! he’s a special fellow.
L’Eclair speaks without.