Pauline. Who can it be that sends me, every day, these beautiful flowers?--
how sweet they are!

Enter Servant.

Servant. Monsieur Beauseant, Madam.

Mme. Deschap. Let him enter. Pauline, this is another offer!--
I know it is!--Your father should engage an additional clerk to keep
the account-book of your conquests.

Enter BEAUSEANT.

Beau. Ah, ladies how fortunate I am to find you at home!--[Aside.] How
lovely she looks!--It is a great sacrifice I make in marrying into a
family in trade!--they will be eternally grateful!--[Aloud.] Madam, you
will permit me a word with your charming daughter.--[Approaches PAULINE,
who rises disdainfully.]--Mademoiselle, I have ventured to wait
upon you, in a hope that you must long since have divined.
Last night, when you outshone all the beauty of Lyons, you completed
your conquest over me! You know that my fortune is not exceeded
by any estate in the province,--you know that, but for the Revolution,
which has defrauded me of my titles, I should be noble.
May I, then, trust that you will not reject my alliance?
I offer you my hand and heart.

Pauline [aside.] He has the air of a man who confers a
favor!--[Aloud.] Sir, you are very condescending--I thank you humbly;
but, being duly sensible of my own demerits, you must allow me
to decline the honor you propose. [Curtsies, and turns away.