Pauline. Is there no hope? No hope but this? M. Deschap. None. If, without the sum Which Beauseant offers for thy hand, this day Sinks to the west--to-morrow brings our ruin! And hundreds, mingled in that ruin, curse The bankrupt merchant! and the insolvent herd We feasted and made merry cry in scorn, "How pride has fallen!--Lo, the bankrupt merchant!" My daughter, thou hast saved us! Pauline. And am lost! M. Deschap. Come, let me hope that Beauseant's love-- Pauline. His love! Talk not of love. Love has no thought of self! Love buys not with the ruthless usurer's gold The loathsome prostitution of a hand Without a heart? Love sacrifices all things To bless the thing it loves! He knows not love. Father, his love is hate--his hope revenge! My tears, my anguish, my remorse for falsehood-- These are the joys that he wrings from our despair! M. Deschap. If thou deem'st thus, reject him! Shame and ruin Were better than thy misery;--think no more on't. My sand is wellnigh run--what boots it when The glass is broken? We'll annul the contract: And if to-morrow in the prisoner's cell These aged limbs are laid, why still, my child, I'll think thou art spared; and wait the Liberal Hour That lays the beggar by the side of kings! Pauline, No--no--forgive me! You, my honor'd father,-- You, who so loved, so cherish'd me, whose lips Never knew one harsh word! I'm not ungrateful; I am but human!--hush! Now, call the bridegroom-- You see I am prepared--no tears--all calm; But, father, talk no more of love M. Deschap. My child, Tis but one struggle; he is young, rich, noble; Thy state will rank first 'mid the dames of Lyons; And when this heart can shelter thee no more, Thy youth will not be guardianless. Pauline. I have set My foot upon the ploughshare--I will pass The fiery ordeal. [Aside.] Merciful Heaven, support me; And on the absent wanderer shed the light Of happier stars--lost evermore to me! Enter MADAME DESCHAPPELLES, BEAUSEANT, GLAVIS, and Notary. Mme. Deschap. Why, Pauline, you are quite in deshabille--you ought to be more alive to the importance of this joyful occasion. We had once looked higher, it is true; but you see, after all, Monsieur Beauseant's father was a Marquis, and that's a great comfort. Pedigree and jointure!--you have them both in Monsieur Beauseant. A young lady decorously brought up should only have two considerations in her choice of a husband; first, is his birth honorable? secondly, will his death be advantageous? All other trifling details should be left to parental anxiety. Beau. [approaching and waving aside Madame]. Ah, Pauline! let me hope that you are reconciled to an event which confers such rapture upon me. Pauline. I am reconciled to my doom. Beau. Doom is a harsh word, sweet lady.