HELENA. Is this the way? [_A march afar._] WIDOW. Ay, marry, is’t. Hark you, they come this way. If you will tarry, holy pilgrim, But till the troops come by, I will conduct you where you shall be lodg’d; The rather for I think I know your hostess As ample as myself. HELENA. Is it yourself? WIDOW. If you shall please so, pilgrim. HELENA. I thank you, and will stay upon your leisure. WIDOW. You came, I think, from France? HELENA. I did so. WIDOW. Here you shall see a countryman of yours That has done worthy service. HELENA. His name, I pray you. DIANA. The Count Rossillon. Know you such a one? HELENA. But by the ear, that hears most nobly of him; His face I know not. DIANA. Whatsome’er he is, He’s bravely taken here. He stole from France, As ’tis reported, for the king had married him Against his liking. Think you it is so? HELENA. Ay, surely, mere the truth; I know his lady. DIANA. There is a gentleman that serves the count Reports but coarsely of her. HELENA. What’s his name? DIANA. Monsieur Parolles. HELENA. O, I believe with him, In argument of praise, or to the worth Of the great count himself, she is too mean To have her name repeated; all her deserving Is a reserved honesty, and that I have not heard examin’d. DIANA. Alas, poor lady! ’Tis a hard bondage to become the wife Of a detesting lord. WIDOW. Ay, right; good creature, wheresoe’er she is, Her heart weighs sadly. This young maid might do her A shrewd turn, if she pleas’d. HELENA. How do you mean? Maybe the amorous count solicits her In the unlawful purpose. WIDOW. He does indeed, And brokes with all that can in such a suit Corrupt the tender honour of a maid; But she is arm’d for him, and keeps her guard In honestest defence. Enter, with a drum and colours, a party of the Florentine army, Bertram and Parolles. MARIANA. The gods forbid else! WIDOW. So, now they come. That is Antonio, the Duke’s eldest son; That Escalus. HELENA. Which is the Frenchman? DIANA. He; That with the plume; ’tis a most gallant fellow. I would he lov’d his wife; if he were honester He were much goodlier. Is’t not a handsome gentleman? HELENA. I like him well. DIANA. ’Tis pity he is not honest. Yond’s that same knave That leads him to these places. Were I his lady I would poison that vile rascal. HELENA. Which is he? DIANA. That jack-an-apes with scarfs. Why is he melancholy? HELENA. Perchance he’s hurt i’ the battle. PAROLLES. Lose our drum! Well. MARIANA. He’s shrewdly vex’d at something. Look, he has spied us. WIDOW. Marry, hang you! MARIANA. And your courtesy, for a ring-carrier! [_Exeunt Bertram, Parolles, Officers and Soldiers._] WIDOW. The troop is past. Come, pilgrim, I will bring you Where you shall host; of enjoin’d penitents There’s four or five, to great Saint Jaques bound, Already at my house.