_Melnotte_. He hath told me
You have the right to choose from out the world
A worthier bridegroom;--he foregoes all claim
Even to murmur at his doom. Speak on!

_Pauline_. Tell him, for years I never nursed a thought
That was not his; that on his wandering way
Daily and nightly poured a mourner's prayers.
Tell him ev'n now that I would rather share
His lowliest lot,--walk by his side, an outcast,--
Work for him, beg with him,--live upon the light
Of one kind smile from him, than wear the crown
The Bourbon lost!

_Melnotte (aside)_. Am I already mad?
And does delirium utter such sweet words
Into a dreamer's ear? (_aloud_.) You love him thus
And yet desert him?

_Pauline_. Say, that, if his eye
Could read this heart,--its struggles, its temptations--
His love itself would pardon that desertion!
Look on that poor old man--he is my father;
He stands upon the verge of an abyss;
He calls his child to save him! Shall I shrink
From him who gave me birth? Withhold my hand
And see a parent perish? Tell him this,
And say--that we shall meet again in Heaven!

SLOW--LOW OROTUND.