Goubeaux-- Morchain--Otranto--Pionnet-- FLAMBEAU. We know. ONE OF THE CONSPIRATORS. Your Father had a memory for names. SIXTH CONSPIRATOR. [_Hurrying up._] Borowski, Sire! It was my glorious task To hire the uniform the Countess wears! THE DUKE. Enough! Enough! I shall remember all, And best of all the one who has not spoken! Your name? [_The man spoken to turns, and the_ DUKE _recognises the_ ATTACHÉ.] What! _You_ here! THE ATTACHÉ. Not as partisan. Only as friend. Indeed no slight occasion Was needed-- FLAMBEAU. [_To the_ DUKE.] Mount! THE DUKE. The dawn is in the east, I seize the reins, and--_Alea jacta est!_ THE ATTACHÉ. My Lord, if I have sought this rendezvous, 'Twas to defend you-- THE DUKE. To defend me, sir? THE ATTACHÉ. I feared you were in danger-- THE DUKE. Danger?--What? THE ATTACHÉ. The rogue Tiburtius, whom I hope to pink, Sneaked from the ball and never sent his seconds, So I ran after him, and saw him meet Another rogue, and heard the two conspire To kill you at some rendezvous. THE DUKE. The Countess! THE ATTACHÉ. The rendezvous was here, as you had told me. I came. All's well. I go. THE DUKE. The rendezvous Was in the hunting-lodge. They'll kill the Countess! We must go back! ALL. No! No! A CONSPIRATOR. Oh, why? MARMONT. The Countess--? PROKESCH. She can unmask. THE DUKE. Alas, you little know her. She'd die ten times to let me win ten minutes. Come back! VOICES. No! THE DUKE. But I cannot--Ah, come back!-- I cannot let them kill her in my absence! OTRANTO. Our efforts wasted! MARMONT. If we re-conspire They will not let you fly. ANOTHER CONSPIRATOR. And France? ANOTHER. The Empire? THE DUKE. Back! MARMONT. Forward! THE DUKE. Back! MARMONT. You cast away the crown! THE DUKE. To leave her were to cast my soul away! MARMONT. One sometimes has to sacrifice-- THE DUKE. A woman? MARMONT. Risk--for a woman--all the chance of triumph--! FLAMBEAU. He's a French Prince! That's certain, anyhow! OTRANTO. We must abduct him! FLAMBEAU. Back! OTRANTO. My coach is here. FLAMBEAU. I'll run you through the body if you touch him! THE DUKE. Back! or with whip uplifted I will charge After the fashion of Murat, my uncle! PROKESCH. Stand back! THE DUKE. Help, Prokesch! VOICES. We shall have to force him.