Then you are out of spirits.

_Bert._ You mistake--I am all happiness--ha! ha!--all joy!

_Ros._ What! because the wars are over, and chevalier Florian returns to
us?--'tis a blest hearing, truly--after all the hardships and dangers he
has passed to see him once again in safety--

_Bert._ (_involuntarily_) Ah! would to heaven we might!

_Ros._ Can there be any doubt? He reaches the chateau this night--will
he not be in safety then?

_Bert._ Yes, yes, with this night every danger certainly will cease.

_Ros._ Bertrand! why do you rub your hand before your eyes?--surely you
are weeping.

_Bert._ No, 'tis a momentary pain that--but 'twill leave me soon. At
night, Rosabelle, you shall see me jovial--joyous!--we'll dance
together, wench--ay, and sing--then--ha! ha! ha!--then who so mirthful,
who so mad, as Bertrand. [_Exit._

_Ros._ What new spleen has bewitched the man? he is ever in some sullen
mood, with scowling brows, or else in a cross-arm'd fit of melancholy;
but I never marked such wildness in his looks and words before.

[_Geraldine_ speaks without.

_Ger._ Rosabelle.

_Ros._ Here, my lady, in the hall.

Enter _Geraldine_.

_Ger._ Girl! I have cause to chide you; my toilette must be changed--you
have dressed me vilely--here! remove these knots--I hate their fashion.

_Ros._ Yet they are the same your ladyship commended yesterday.

_Ger._ Then 'tis the colour of my robe offends me--these ornaments are a
false match to it--either all the mirrors in the house have warped since
yesterday, or never did I look so ill before.

_Ros._ Now, in my poor judgment, you rarely have looked better.

_Ger._ Out! fool; you have no judgment.

_Ros._ Well, fool or not, there's one upon the road who holds faith with
me, or I'm a heretic. Your charms will shine bright enough, lady, to
dazzle a soldier's eye.

_Ger._ Ah! no, Rosabelle--you would deceive your mistress. Florian
returns not as he left us; his travelled eyes have gazed on beauties of
the polished court--and now he will despise the wild untutored
Geraldine.

_Ros._ Will he? Let him beware he shows not his contempt before me.
What! my own beautiful and high-born mistress; the greatest heiress in
all Alsace; to be despised by a foundling, picked up in a forest, and
reared upon her uncle's charity?

_Ger._ Hush!--the mystery of my Florian's birth is his misfortune, but
cannot be his reproach. Our countrymen may dispute his title to command,
bu