n, madam, that this young man is of poor though
honest parents? Know you not that you are wedded to my son, Claude
Melnotte?

Pauline. Your son! hold--hold! do not speak to me.--[Approaches
MELNOTTE, and lays her hand on his arm.]--Is this a jest? is it? I know
it is, only speak--one word--one look one smile. I cannot believe--I
who loved thee so--I cannot believe that thou art such a--No, I will not
wrong thee by a harsh word--Speak!

Mel. Leave us--have pity on her, on me: leave us.

Widow. Oh, Claude, that I should live to see thee bowed by shame! thee
of whom I was so proud! [Exit by the staircase.

Pauline. Her son--her son!

Mel. Now, lady, hear me.

Pauline. Hear thee! Ay, speak--her son! have fiends a parent? speak,
That thou mayst silence curses--speak!

Mel. No, curse me: Thy curse would blast me less than thy forgiveness.

Pauline [laughing wildly].
"This is thy palace, where the perfumed light
Steals through the mist of alabaster lamps,
And every air is heavy with the sighs
Of orange-groves, and music from the sweet lutes,
And murmurs of low fountains, that gush forth
I' the midst of roses!" Dost thou like the picture?
This is my bridal home, and thou my bridegroom.
O fool--O dupe--O wretch!--I see it all
Thy by-word and the jeer of every tongue
In Lyons. Hast thou in thy heart one touch
Of human kindness? if thou hast, why, kill me,
And save thy wife from madness. No, it cannot
It cannot be: this is some horrid dream:
I shall wake soon.--[Touching him.] Art flesh art man? or but
The shadows seen in sleep? It is too real.
What have I done to thee? how sinn'd against thee,
That thou shouldst crush me thus?

Mel. Pauline, by pride
Angels have fallen ere thy time: by pride
That sole alloy of thy most lovely mould
The evil spirit of a bitter love,
And a revengeful heart, had power upon thee.
From my first years my soul was fill'd with thee:
I saw thee midst the flow'rs the lowly boy
Tended, unmark'd by thee--a spirit of bloom,
And joy, and freshness, as if Spring itself
Were made a living thing, and wore thy shape!
I saw thee, and the passionate heart of man
Enter'd the breast of the wild-dreaming boy.
And from that hour I grew--what to the last
I shall be--thine adorer! Well, this love
Vain, frantic, guilty, if thou wilt, became