_Eug._ Ah! no, no: the tomb long since has covered all my friends; 'tis some wily agent of my foe! Ah! forbid him mother; let him not approach me. _Mon._ 'Tis too late; he is already in the house. _Eug._ Where? (_Monica_ points, and _Eugenia's_ eyes following her direction, rest upon the prostrate figure of _Bertrand_, who has placed himself in a posture of supplication, and concealed his face with his hands.) _Eug._ (_gazing intensely with apprehension._) Speak! you kneel and still are silent. Ah! what would you require of me? _Bert._ (_uncovering his face without raising his eyes_) Pardon! pardon! _Eug._ (_shrieking and flying_) Ah! Bertrand. _Bert._ (_catching her mantle_) Stay! angel of mercy, stay and hear me. He that was your scourge now yields himself your slave: a wretched penitent despairing man lies humbled in the dust before you, and implores for pardon. _Eug._ (_pauses--presses her crucifix to her lips, and then replies with fervor._) Yes! charity and peace to all! Nay, heaven forgive thee, sinful man, I never will accuse thee at its bar. _Bert._ Angel! my actions better than my prayers may plead with heaven for mercy: the cruel wrongs that I have offered, yet in part may be atoned--lady, I come to serve and save you. _Eug._ Ah! to what fresh terrors am I yet devoted? _Bert._ Might we converse without a witness? in your ear only dare I breathe my purpose. _Mon._ Nay, I will not be an eaves-dropper: my child you do not fear this person now? I'll leave you with him--nay, 'tis best--perchance he comes indeed with service. My blessings go with you, stranger, if you mean her fairly, but if you wrong or play her false, a widow's curse fall heavy on your death-bed. [_Exit up the staircase._ (A pause of mutual agitation.) _Eug._ Speak! man of terrors--say what has the persecuted and undone Eugenia yet to dread? _Bert._ The baron Longueville-- _Eug._ That fiend! _Bert._ He now is in the neighbourhood; as yet he dreams not that you live: but accident this very hour might betray you to his knowledge. Lady! I possess the means. O blessed chance! to shield you from his malice. _Eug._ And wilt thou; O! wilt thou, Bertrand, at last extend a pitying arm to raise the wretch, thy former hate had stricken to the ground? I have been despoiled of fortune, fame, and health: my brain has been distracted by thy cruelty: yet now preserve me from this worst extreme of fate: let me not die the slave of Longueville, all my injuries, all my sufferings are forgotten, and this one gracious act shall win thy pardon for a thousand sins. _Bert._ Lady! my o'er weighed conscience heaves impatiently to cast its load. (_sinks on his knee_) Lo! at your injured feet I kneel, and solemnly pronounce a vow, the tyrant Longueville shall mar your peace no more.