teau.

Mel. Beauseant!--[Reads].

"Young man, I know thy secret--thou lovest above thy station: if thou
hast wit, courage, and discretion, I can secure to thee the realization
of thy most sanguine hopes; and the sole condition I ask in return is,
that thou shalt be steadfast to thine own ends. I shall demand from thee
a solemn oath to marry her whom thou lovest; to bear her to thine home
on thy wedding night. I am serious--if thou wouldst learn more, lose
not a moment, but follow the bearer of this letter to thy friend and
patron,--CHARLES BEAUSEANT."

Mel. Can I believe my eyes? Are our own passions the sorcerers that
raise up for us spirits of good or evil? I will go instantly.

Widow. What is this, Claude?

Mel. "Marry her whom thou lovest,"--"bear her to thine own home."--
Oh, revenge and love; which of you is the stronger?--[Gazing on the
picture.] Sweet face, thou smilest on me from the canvas: weak fool that
I am, do I then love her still? No, it is the vision of my own romance
that I have worshipped: it is the reality to which I bring scorn for
scorn. Adieu, mother: I will return anon. My brain reels--the earth
swims before me.--[Looks again at the letter.] No, it is not a mockery;
I do not dream! [Exit.

ACT II.--SCENE I.

The Gardens of M. DESCHAPPELLEs' house at Lyons--the house seen at the
back of the stage.

Enter BEAUSEANT and GLAVIS.

Beau. Well, what think you of my plot? Has it not succeeded to a
miracle? The instant that I introduced his Highness the Prince of Como
to the pompous mother and the scornful daughter, it was all over with
them: he came--he saw--he conquered: and, though it is not many days
since he arrived, they have already promised him the hand of Pauline.

Gla. It is lucky, though, that you told them his highness travelled
incognito, for fear the Directory (who are not very fond of princes)
should lay him by the heels; for he has a wonderful wish to keep up his
rank, and scatters our gold about with as much coolness as if he were
watering his own flower-pots.

Beau. True, he is damnably extravagant; I think the sly dog does it out
of malice. How ever, it must be owned that he reflects credit on his
loyal subjects, and makes a very pretty figure in his fine clothes, with
my diamond snuff-box.

Gla. And my diamond ring! But do you think he will be firm to the last?
I fancy I see symptoms of relenting: he will never keep up his rank, if
he once let out his conscience.