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 proud 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.