_De Val._ How! is she unhappy then? her sorrows be her passport here; admit her instantly: where should the afflicted heart prefer a prayer, if kindred wretchedness deny its sympathy? (_Gaspard_ introduces _Monica_.) _Mon._ So! you are seen at last, my lord! men say your heart is good; grant Heaven! I find it so; but ah! perhaps it is too late. Yes, yes; I fear it: the dove is in the vulture's grip already. _De Val._ Woman! what strange distraction's this? Give me a knowledge of your griefs with method. _Mon._ I will, I will, but anguish stifles me; O! my lord, my lord, this is your castle, and here she fled for shelter, yet cruel hearts refused her prayer. I have been told by your people that the baron's pavilion on the river-bank is made her prison; she will be murdered there: oh! my lord, gracious lord, save her, save her! (She throws herself passionately at his feet.) _De Val._ Rise; attempt composure, your words are riddles to me. _Gasp._ My lord! 'tis of the poor lunatic she speaks; she whom the baron has confined: this woman claims her as her charge. _De Val._I saw the person not, but heard in brief her story from the baron; rest, good woman, rest; my kinsman is her friend. _Mon._ No, no, he is a monster thirsting for her blood: here, here, I have read his character. (Producing Eugenia's MSS.) _De Val._ Beware! you offend me; grief yields no privilege to slander. _Mon._ I am not a slanderer, indeed, _indeed_, I am not; here are proofs: your lordship, I find, is called the Count De Valmont; had you not once a relation of the same title, who fell in battle with the Huguenots eighteen years ago! _De Val._ Never. _Mon._ Yet 'twas the same title: ay, here 'tis written: "in forcing the passage of the Durance." _De Val._ How! 'tis of myself assuredly you read; I was reported falsely in that very action to have fallen; and for a time my death was credited through France. _Mon._ Ah! my lord! my lord! O! it rushes on my heart--nay, give but a moment; speak; were you once wedded to a lady named Eugenia? _De Val._ Woman! ah, name beloved!--wherefore that torturing question? _Mon._ Yes, yes; it is--it must be so--I cannot, here--read--this!-- (_giving the scroll_). _De Val._ Eternal Powers! Eugenia's well-known character! when and whence did you procure this writing? _Mon._ This very morning, from her own hand, my lord, Eugenia lives to bless and to be blessed again. (_De Valmont_ starts as if stricken to the center, for a moment his features express amazement, then incredulity, and lastly indignation.) _De Val._ Begone! thou wretched woman, lest I forget thy sex, and kill thee for thy cruelty. _Mon._ Nay, let me die, but not be doubted: read, read, and let your eyes assure your soul of joy! (The _Count_ faintly staggers back into a seat, and then fastens his eyes upon the scroll with a frenzied earnestness.)