d as Juno.

Beau. Her taste is worse than her pride.--[Drawing himself up.] Know,
Glavis, she has actually refused me!

Gla. [aside]. So she has me!--very consoling! In all cases of
heart-ache, the application of another man's disappointment draws
out the pain and allays the irritation.--[Aloud.] Refused you! and
wherefore?

Beau. I know not, unless it be because the Revolution swept away my
father's title of Marquis,--and she will not marry a commoner. Now, as
we have no noblemen left in France,--as we are all citizens and equals,
she can only hope that, in spite of the war, some English Milord or
German Count will risk his life, by coming to Lyons, that this fille du
Roturier may condescend to accept him. Refused me, and with scorn!--By
Heaven, I'll not submit to it tamely:--I'm in a perfect fever of
mortification and rage.--Refuse me, indeed!

Gla. Be comforted, my dear fellow,--I will tell you a secret. For the
same reason she refused ME!

Beau. You!--that's a very different matter! But give me your hand,
Glavis,--we'll think of some plan to humble her. Mille diables! I should
like to see her married to a strolling player!

Enter Landlord and his Daughter from the Inn.

Land. Your servant, citizen Beauseant,--servant, Sir. Perhaps you will
take dinner before you proceed to your chateau; our larder is most
plentifully supplied.

Beau. I have no appetite.

Gla. Nor I. Still it is bad travelling on an empty stomach. What have
you got? [Takes and looks over the bill of fare.]

[Shout without.] "Long live the Prince!--Long live the Prince!"

Beau. The Prince!--what Prince is that? I thought we had no princes left
in France.

Land. Ha, ha! the lads always call him Prince. He has just won the prize
in the shooting-match, and they are taking him home in triumph.

Beau. Him! and who's Mr. Him?

Land. Who should he be but the pride of the village, Claude
Melnotte?--Of course you have heard of Claude Melnotte?

Gla. [giving back the bill of fare.] Never had that honor. Soup--ragout
of hare--roast chicken, and, in short, all you have!

Beau. The son of old Alelnotte, the gardener?

Land. Exactly so--a wonderful young man.

Beau. How, wonderful?--Are his cabbages better than other people's

Land. Nay, he don't garden any more; his father left him well off. He's
only a genus.

Gla. A what?

Land. A genus!--a man who can do everything in life except anything
that's useful--that's a genus.

Beau. You r