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.