THE MARQUISE Alas! Alas, ‘tis true We are good friends—in life and death good friends! ‘Tis much—though there are lovers too in Nantes, And when one loves ‘tis not so hard to die! Or so I’ve heard, monsieur. DE VARDES O destiny! THE MARQUISE The jasmine is my flower—a luckless bloom! Wear not the too-sweet jasmine flower, For then one loves, but is not loved again! DE VARDES No, no! the rose— THE MARQUISE The rose unloved! Ay, ay! Last night I dreamed of roses and of lights, Beside a water still they burned and bloomed— Lit candles and pale roses with gold hearts, Like those that bloomed within my garden once, When you rode by, when you rode by, my friend! DE VARDES Alas! THE MARQUISE They’re dead, my garden roses, dead! They’ll bloom no more, nor wilt thou ride that way; Nor, Sieur de Morbec, dost thou love the rose. For once thou said’st to me upon a day When I did find the Morbec roses fair, “I better love the heartsease at thy feet.” The peasant flower! Rememb’rest thou that day? ‘Twas Saint John’s Eve— DE VARDES Would I remembered not! THE MARQUISE The heartsease— DE VARDES The heartsease withered. [_A roar from the square._ DE L’ORIENT _turns from the window_. DE L’ORIENT Ah! COUNT LOUIS What do you see? DE L’ORIENT Too much! [_A turnkey laughs._ THE TURNKEY Carrier! Lalain! Oh, they judge quickly! _Vive la République!_ THE MARQUISE It was a summer day when first we met, And now we part within a prison here, And never shall we see each other more! DE VARDES Oh, briefer than the fairest summer day The little hour before we meet again! Soon, soon I’ll follow thee, and all of these! The reaper hath his sickle in the corn. He is a madman, but the field is God’s, And God will garner up the fallen ears, And in another life we two shall meet! THE MARQUISE And wilt thou love me then? Ah, no! Ah, no! DE VARDES Thou art a lady brave and fair— THE MARQUISE Alas! GRÉGOIRE The Nun Benôite, an Ursuline!