Count Henri.—Where should I be, sweet coz? I love the sunshine!
Vic.—So love you not this room—for here the sun ne'er shines.
Count.—The sun—my sun is smiling on me now!
Vic.—Oh, don't! I'm so tired of all that!
Count.—Lady, it shall not weary you again; I've borne your light caprice too long already. For the last time I come to ask of you, madam, Is it your pleasure we fulfil at once your father's last injunction?
Vic.—Ah! but this isn't the last time, Henri; I'll wager you this hand with my heart in it, you will ask me the same question a dozen times yet ere you die.
Count.—I'll not gainsay you, lady; time will show. (A short pause.) Yet, by my sword, if such your wager be, I will be dumb till doomsday.
Vic.—Then book the bet! and claim my heart and hand—(she pauses—he waits in eager hope)—on—doomsday morning, cousin!
Count.—I claim thee now or never!
Vic.—If they only hadn't said we must, Henri!