Monsieur le Duc de Beaumont. [DIANE _starts_.] DUKE. [_Turning with contempt_.] Monsieur le Marquis de Vaux. DIANE [_Amazed_.] This--the Marquis de Vaux? GOUROC. You are surprised to see me in this garb. I am equally surprised to find you the guests of Citizen Kauvar, President of the Republican Section of Fraternity. DUKE. Not quite as strange as discovering the dainty Marquis de Vaux a Public Accuser and the servile slave of the guillotine. GOUROC. Reserve your contempt till you understand the meaning of my presence here. I come to warn you against your host. DIANE. [_Haughtily_.] How, sir! You suspect the loyalty of Monsieur Kauvar? GOUROC. What if he has trapped you here only to betray you? DIANE. That's impossible, sir! Monsieur Kauvar is the soul of honour and devotion. DUKE. Besides, his head is surety for ours. The discovery that he had sheltered us would entail his own death. GOUROC. Precisely! And what if the sense of that danger had prompted a denunciation, while there still was some merit in it? [_The_ DUKE _starts_. DIANE _turns aside with scorn_.] One thing is certain: an anonymous denunciation of you, describing your disguise and your retreat, has been made to our club. DIANE. [_Clasping her father_.] What!--Discovered and denounced? GOUROC. As Public Accuser, the denunciation fell first into my hands. I have risked my life by withholding it from the Tribunal until your safety is assured. DUKE. [_Giving_ GOUROC _his hand_.] Pardon, Marquis, that I did not realize before the motives of your course. GOUROC. Grant me, then, the privilege of saving you. DUKE. We will. You belong to our own race; we may trust you. GOUROC. Then prepare for sudden and secret flight. DIANE. [_Starting_.] Flight! Where can we be safer than under our present host's protection? GOUROC. Under mine, Mademoiselle. Kauvar is a man of the people. To him such words as loyalty, truth and honour are but empty puffs of air. DIANE. [_Proudly and passionately_.] On whose lips is there meaning purer, or prouder, than on Paul Kauvar's? DUKE. [_With haughty surprise_.] Mademoiselle! When you speak so warmly, you forget the distance that separates you from one of his rank. [_Cries in the distance of_ "To the Guillotine!" _with the roll of muffled drums_. DIANE. [_In solemn voice_.] Nay, father, listen!--Do we need more to remind us of the nearness of the protected to the protector? [_The_ DUKE _listens with bowed head_. GOUROC _goes to window_. DUKE. [_To_ GOUROC, _as drums draw near_.] Is it the patrol? GOUROC. [_Solemnly_.] No. Tis the guard of the death-cart, with to-day's load for the guillotine. DIANE. [_Hiding her face_.] This constant agitation is torture. GOUROC. You can easily escape it, Mademoiselle. Accept the refuge I offer you. DUKE. We will, Marquis, at once. Come to my room, and we will complete our plans. [_To_ DIANE.]