M. Deschap. But do not talk of that impostor; I hope he is dead or has left the country. Nay, even were he in Lyons at this moment, he ought to rejoice that, in an honorable and suitable alliance, my daughter may forget her sufferings and his crime. Damas.--Nay, if it be all settled, I have no more to say. Monsieur Beauseant informs me that the contract is to be signed this very day. M. Deschap, It is; at one o'clock precisely. Will you be one of the witnesses? Damas. I?--No; that is to say--yes, certainly!--at one o'clock I will wait on you. M. Deschap. Till then, adieu--come Beauseant. [Exeunt BEAUSEANT and DESCHAPELLES Damas. The man who sets his heart upon a woman Is a chameleon, and doth feed on air; From air he takes his colors--holds his life,-- Changes with every wind,--grows lean or fat, Rosy with hope, or green with jealousy, Or pallid with despair--just as the gale Varies from North to South--from heat to cold! Oh, woman! woman! thou shouldst have few sins Of thine own to answer for! Thou art the author Of such a book of follies in a man, That it would need the tears of all the angels To blot the record out! [Enter MELNOTTE, pale and agitated. I need not tell thee! Thou hast heard-- Mel. The worst! I have! Damas. Be cheer'd; others are fair as she is! Mel. Others! The world is crumbled at my feet! She was my world; fill'd up the whole of being-- Smiled in the sunshine--walk'd the glorious earth-- Sate in my heart--was the sweet life of life. The Past was hers; I dreamt not of a Future That did not wear her shape! Mem'ry and Hope Alike are gone. Pauline is faithless! Henceforth The universal space is desolate! Damas. Hope yet. Mel. Hope, yes!--one hope is left me still-- A soldier's grave! Glory has died with love. I look into my heart, and, where I saw Pauline, see Death! [After a pause].--But am I not deceived? I went but by the rumor of the town; Rumor is false,--I was too hasty! Damas, Whom hast thou seen? Damas. Thy rival and her father. Arm thyself for the truth.--He heeds not. Mel. She. Will never know how deeply she was loved! The charitable night, that wont to bring Comfort to-day, in bright and eloquent dreams, Is henceforth leagued with misery! Sleep, farewell, Or else become eternal! Oh, the waking From false oblivion, and to see the sun, And know she is another's! Damas. Be a man! Mel. I am a man!--it is the sting of woe Like mine that tells us we are men! Damas. The false one Did not deserve thee.