eal of truth? Forsooth, the hypocrite
fainted! What must now be thy language, sensibility, since coquettes
faint? How wilt thou vindicate thyself, innocence?--for even strumpets
faint?

She knows her power over me--she has seen through my very heart! My soul
shone conspicuous in my eyes at the blush of her first kiss. And that
she should have felt nothing! or perhaps felt only the triumph of her
art; whilst my happy delirium fancied that in her I embraced a whole
heaven, my wildest wishes were hushed! No thought but of her and
eternity was present to my mind. Oh, God! and yet she felt nothing?
Nothing? but that her artifice had triumphed! That her charms were
flattered! Death and vengeance! Nothing, but that I was betrayed!

SCENE III.

FERDINAND, the MARSHAL.

MARSHAL (tripping into the room). I am told, my dear baron, that you
have expressed a wish----

FERDINAND (muttering to himself). To break your rascally neck. (Aloud.)
Marshal, this letter must have dropped out of your pocket on parade.
(With a malicious smile.) And I have been the fortunate finder.

MARSHAL. You?

FERDINAND. By a singular coincidence! Now, balance thy account with
heaven!

MARSHAL. You quite alarm me, baron!

FERDINAND. Read it, sir, read it! (Turning from him.) If I am not good
enough for a lover perhaps I may do for a pimp. (While the MARSHAL
reads, FERDINAND goes to the wall and takes down the pistols.)

KALB (throws the letter upon the table, and rushes off). Confusion!

FERDINAND (leads him back by the arm). Wait a little, my dear marshal!
The intelligence contained in that letter appears to be agreeable! The
finder must have his reward. (Showing him the pistols.)

MARSHAL (starts back in alarm). Have you lost your senses, baron?

FERDINAND (in a terrible voice). I have more than enough left to rid the
world of such a scoundrel as you! Choose one of these instantly! (He
forces a pistol into the MARSHAL'S hand, and then draws out his
handkerchief.) And now take the other end of this handkerchief! It was
given me by the strumpet herself!

MARSHAL. What, shoot over the handkerchief? Baron, are you mad? What
can you be thinking of?

FERDINAND. Lay hold of it, I say! or you will be sure to miss your aim,
coward! How the coward trembles! You should thank God, you pitiful
coward, that you have a chance for once of getting something in your
empty brain-box. (The MARSHAL takes to his heels.) Gently, gently!
I'll take care