Eug. Where?
Monica points, and Eugenia’s eyes following her direction, rest upon the prostrate figure of Bertrand, who has placed himself in a posture of supplication, and concealed his face with his hands.
Eug. (gazing intensely with apprehension.) Speak! you kneel and still are silent. Ah! what would you require of me?
Bert. (uncovering his face without raising his eyes) Pardon! pardon!
Eug. (shrieking and flying) Ah! Bertrand.
Bert. (catching her mantle) Stay! angel of mercy, stay and hear me. He that was your scourge now yields himself your slave: a wretched penitent despairing man lies humbled in the dust before you, and implores for pardon.
Eug. (pauses—presses her crucifix to her lips, and then replies with fervor.) Yes! charity and peace to all! Nay, heaven forgive thee, sinful man, I never will accuse thee at its bar.
Bert. Angel! my actions better than my prayers may plead with heaven for mercy: the cruel wrongs that I have offered, yet in part may be atoned—lady, I come to serve and save you.
Eug. Ah! to what fresh terrors am I yet devoted?
Bert. Might we converse without a witness? in your ear only dare I breathe my purpose.