ng to M. Beauseant,--his father was a marquis before the
Revolution.

Pauline. M. Beauseant!--Cousin, you delight in tormenting me!

Mme. Deschap. Don't mind him, Pauline!--Cousin Damas, you have no
susceptibility of feeling,--there is a certain indelicacy in all your
ideas.--M. Beauseant knows already that he is no match for my daughter!

Damas. Pooh! pooh! one would think you intended your daughter to marry a
prince!

Mme. Deschap. Well, and if I did?--what then?--Many a foreign prince--

Damas [interrupting her]. Foreign prince!--foreign fiddlestick!--you
ought to be ashamed of such nonsense at your time of life.

Mme. Deschap. My time of life!--That is an expression never applied to
any lady till she is sixty-nine and three-quarters;--and only then by
the clergyman of the parish.

Enter Servant.

Servant. Madame, the carriage is at the door. [Exit.

Mme. Deschap. Come, child, put on your bonnet--you really have a very
thorough-bred air--not at all like your poor father.--[Fondly]. Ah, you
little coquette! when a young lady is always making mischief, it is a
sure sign that she takes after her mother!

Pauline. Good day, cousin Damas--and a better humor to you.--[Going
back to the table and taking the flowers]. Who could have sent me these
flowers? [Exeunt PAULINE and MADAME DESCHAPPELLES.

Damas. That would be an excellent girl if her head had not been turned.
I fear she is now become incorrigible! Zounds, what a lucky fellow I am
to be still a bachelor! They may talk of the devotion of the sex--but
the most faithful attachment in life is that of a woman in love--with
herself. [Exit.

SCENE II.

The exterior of a small Village Inn--sign, the Golden Lion--A few
leagues from Lyons, which is seen at a distance.

Beau. [behind the scenes.] Yes, you may bait the horses; we shall rest
here an hour.

Enter BEAUSEANT and GLAVIS.

Gla. Really, my dear Beauseant, consider that I have promised to spend
a day or two with you at your chateau, that I am quite at your mercy for
my entertainment,--and yet you are as silent and as gloomy as a mute at
a funeral, or an Englishman at a party of pleasure.

Beau. Bear with me!--the fact is that I am miserable.

Gla. You--the richest and gayest bachelor in Lyons?

Beau. It is because I am a bachelor that I am miserable.--Thou knowest
Pauline--the only daughter of the rich merchant, Mons. Deschappelles?

Gla. Know her?--who does not?--as pretty as Venus, and as prou