The Lady of Lyons Part 7

"Do you? Wise judges are we of each other.

'Woo, wed, and bear her home! So runs the bond To which I sold myself,--and then--what then?

Away?--I will not look beyond the hour.

Like children in the dark, I dare not face The shades that gather sound me in the distance.

You envy me--I thank you--you may read My joy upon my brow--I thank you, sir!

If hearts had audible language, you would hear What mine would answer when you talk of ENVY!"

ACT III.--SCENE I.

The exterior of the Golden Leon--time, twilight. The moon rises during the scene.

Enter Landlord and his Daughter from the Inn.

Land. Ha--ha--ha! Well, I never shall get over it. Our Claude is a prince with a vengeance now. His carriage breaks down at my inn--ha--ha!

Janet. And what airs the young lady gives herself! "Is this the best room you have, young woman?" with such a toss of the head.

Land. Well, get in, Janet: get in and see to the supper: the servants must sup before they go back. [Exeunt.

Enter BEAUSEANT and GLAVIS.

Beau. You see our princess is lodged at last--one stage more, and she'll be at her journey's end--the beautiful palace at the foot of the Alps!--ha--ha!

Gla. Faith, I pity the poor Pauline--especially if she's going to sup at the Golden Lion [makes a wry face]. I shall never forget that cursed ragout.

Enter MELNOTTE from the Inn.

Beau. Your servant, my prince; you reigned most worthily, I condole with you on your abdication. I am afraid that your highness's retinue are not very faithful servants. I think they will quit you in the moment of your fall 'tis the fate of greatness. But you are welcome to your fine clothes--also the diamond snuff-box, which Louis XIV. gave to your great-great-grandmother.

Gla. And the ring, with which your grandfather the Dodge of Venice married the Adriatic.

Mel. I have kept my oath, gentlemen--say, have I kept my oath?

Beau. Most religiously.

Mel. Then you have done with me and mine--away with you!

Beau. How, knave?

Mel. Look you, our bond is over. Proud conquerors that we are, we have won the victory over a simple girl compromised her honor--embittered her life--blasted, in their very blossoms, all the flowers of her youth.

This is your triumph,--it is my shame! [Turns to BEAUSEANT.] Enjoy thy triumph, but not in my sight. I was her betrayer--I am her protector!

Cross but her path--one word of scorn, one look of insult--nay, but one quiver of that mocking lip, and I will teach thee that bitter word thou hast graven eternally in this heart--Repentance.

Beau. His highness is most grandiloquent.

Mel. Highness me no more! Beware! Remorse has made me a new being. Away with you! There is danger in me. Away!

Gla. [aside]. He's an awkward fellow to deal with: come away, Beauseant.

Beau. I know the respect clue to rank. Adieu, my prince. Any commands at Lyons? Yet hold--I promised you 200 Louis on your wedding-day; here they are.

Mel. [das.h.i.+ng the purse to the ground]. I gave you revenge, I did not sell it. Take up your silver, Judas; take it. Ay, it is fit you should learn to stoop.

Beau. You will beg my pardon for this some clay. [Aside to GLAVIS.] Come to my chateau--I shall return hither to morrow, to learn how Pauline likes her new dignity.

Mel. Are you not gone yet?

Beau. Your highness's most obedient, most faithful

Gla. And most humble servants. Ha! ha! [Exeunt BEAUSEANT and GLAVIS.

Mel. Thank heaven I had no weapon, or I should have slain them. Wretch!

what can I say? Where turn? On all sides mockery--the very boors within--[Laughter from the Inn].--'Sdeath, if even in this short absence the exposure should have chanced. I will call her. We will go hence. I have already sent one I can trust to my mother's house. There, at least, none can insult her agony--gloat upon her shame! There alone must she learn what a villain she has sworn to love. [As he turns to the door enter PAULINE from the Inn.

Pauline. Ah! my lord, what a place! I never saw such rude people. They stare and wink so. I think the very sight of a prince, though he travels incognito, turns their honest heads. What a pity the carriage should break down in such a spot! You are not well--the drops stand on your brow--your hand is feverish.

Mel. Nay, it is but a pa.s.sing spasm;--the air

Pauline. Is not the soft air of your native south--How pale he is!--indeed thou art not well. Where are our people? I will call them.

Mel. Hold! I--I am well.

Pauline. Thou art!--Ah! now I know it.

Thou fanciest, my kind lord--I know thou dost-- Thou fanciest these rude walls, these rustic gossips, Brick'd floors, sour wine, coa.r.s.e viands, vex Pauline; And so they might, but thou art by my side, And I forget all else.

Enter Landlord, the Servants peeping and laughing over his shoulder.

Land. My lord--your highness--Will your most n.o.ble excellency choose--

Mel. Begone, sir! [Exit Landlord laughing.

Pauline. How could they have learn'd thy rank?

One's servants are so vain!--nay, let it not Chafe thee, sweet prince!--a few short days and we Shall see thy palace by its lake of silver, And--nay, nay, spendthrift, is thy wealth of smiles, Already drain'd, or dost thou play the miser?

Mel. Thine eyes would call up smiles in deserts, fair one.

Let us escape these rustics: close at hand There is a cot, where I have bid prepare Our evening lodgment--a rude, homely roof, But honest, where our welcome will not be Made torture by the vulgar eyes and tongues That are as death to Love! A heavenly night!

The wooing air and the soft moon invite us.

Wilt walk? I pray thee, now,--I know the path, Ay, every inch of it!

Pauline. What, thou! Methought Thou wert a stranger in these parts? Ah, truant, Some village beauty lured thee;--thou art now Grown constant?

Mel. Trust me.

Pauline. Princes are so changeful!

Mel. Come, dearest, come.