Count. Well, as it suits—and so good night, most noble love-sick swain.
Falc. Good night, most noble nephew of the countess Roland.
[Bowing as before, and with count exeunt falconers. Christopher with his back to the countess, bows in return—She advances from chateau all joy and triumph, and exultingly goes towards him—countess advancing from the house.
Count. (aside and unseen by Christopher.) So, most noble nephew of the countess Roland.
Chris. Oh, sweet Ulrica! Oh, most savage—(turns, and comes against countess.) Mercy! do I see right?
Count. You see your aunt, the countess Roland, who regrets extremely she didn't see you on your last visit—but you saw Ulrica; and if, as I presume, you come once more to see her—(Christopher more and more frightened.) You do; your looks, your fears, your agitation proves it; and to end at once yours, hers, and my anxiety—Ulrica!
Chris. Don't—don't alarm the family! Upon my honour. (appealing.)
Count. When I selected the son of baron Ravensburg, I hadn't the honor of knowing my charming nephew. (curtsying very low, Christopher staring, and beginning to brighten up.) But now I do know him! lest the baron should return and spoil the present glorious opportunity—Ulrica! (Ulrica appears at the window.) Look, who's here—and at first sight, he has so won my favour; and so excells these paltry Ravensburgs, that, if you choose to be released, and instantly receive my dear lov'd nephew's suit——
Ul. I'll try, aunt.
Count. And you! (to Christopher.)