ing passed the
point of its brightest bloom, that it is rather advancing towards it,
and would enchain fresh hearts for you every day if you only would give
it the permission.

MARWOOD.

Be silent, Hannah! You flatter me on an occasion which makes me
suspicious of any flattery. It is nonsense to speak of new conquests,
if one has not even sufficient power to retain possession of those
which one has already made.

Scene II.

A Servant, Marwood, Hannah.

SERVANT.

Some one wishes to have the honour of speaking with you.

MARWOOD.

Who is it?

SERVANT.

I suppose it is the gentleman to whom the letter was addressed. At
least the servant to whom I delivered it is with him.

MARWOOD.

Mellefont!--Quick, bring him up! (_Exit_ Servant.) Ah, Hannah! He is
here now! How shall I receive him? What shall I say? What look shall I
put on? Is this calm enough? Just see!

HANNAH.

Anything but calm.

MARWOOD.

This, then?

HANNAH.

Throw a little sweetness into it.

MARWOOD.

So, perhaps?

HANNAH.

Too sad.

MARWOOD.

Would this smile do?

HANNAH.

Perfectly--only less constrained--He is coming.

Scene III.

Mellefont, Marwood, Hannah.

MELLEFONT (_entering with wild gestures_).

Ha! Marwood----

MARWOOD (_running to meet him smiling, and with open arms_).

Ah, Mellefont!

MELLEFONT (_aside_).

The murderess! What a look!

MARWOOD.

I must embrace you, faithless, dear fugitive! Share my joy with me! Why
do you tear yourself from my caresses!

MELLEFONT.

I expected, Marwood, that you would receive me differently.

MARWOOD.

Why differently? With more love, perhaps? With more delight? Alas, how
unhappy I am, that I cannot express all that I feel! Do you not see,
Mellefont, do you not see that joy, too, has its tears? Here they fall,
the offspring of sweetest