_Ger._ Ambitious pride may tremble at the storm, but true love, uncle, never can be wrecked; its constancy is strengthened, not impaired by trials, and when adversity divorces us from common friendships, the chosen partners of each other's hearts a second time are married, and with dearer rites. _De Val._ (_averting his face with a look of anguish_) Girl! _Ger._ (_unnoticing his emotion_) Then if they have children, how surpassing is the bliss, while their own gay prime is mellowly subsiding into age, to trace the features and the virtues they adored in youth, renewed before their eyes, and feel themselves the proud and grateful authors of each other's joy--Ah! trust me, uncle! such a destiny is beyond the reach of fortune's malice; 'tis the anti-type of heaven. _De Val._ (_Grasping her hand suddenly, convulsed with agitation._) 'Tis the distracting mockery of hell that cheats us with an hour's ecstatic dream to torture us eternally: girl! girl! wouldst thou find happiness, die! seek it in the grave, only in the grave--a watchful fiend destroys it upon earth! Prat'st thou of love? Connubial and parental love? Ah! dear-lov'd objects of my soul! what are ye now--ashes, ashes, darkly scattering to the midnight winds. God! the flames yet blaze--here, here--my brain's on fire! [_Rushes out._ _Ger._ Uncle! listen to your Geraldine! --Ah! ingrate that I am! the vulture that gnaws his generous heart, had slumbered for a moment, and I have waked it to renew its cruelty! my fault was unawares, yet I could chide it like a crime; my mounting spirits fall from their giddy height at once. Oh! uncle! noble, suffering uncle! would that my tears could wash away the recollection of my words. [_Weeps._ _De Valmont_ suddenly returns and embraces _Geraldine_. _De Val._ Geraldine! dear child, forgive me! my violence has terrified your gentle nature. I would not pain you, love, for worlds; but I am not always master of myself, and my passions will sometimes break forth rebellious to my reason; pity and forgive the infirmities of grief. _Ger._ Ah! Sir. (_Attempts to kneel._) _De Val._ (_Preventing her, and kissing her forehead._) Bless you, my good and innocent child; nay, do not speak to me, my happiness is lost forever, but I can pray for yours. Bless you, my child! bless you ever. [_Breaks from her, and exit. _Ger._ My happiness! ah! if the exalted virtues of a soul like yours, my uncle, despair of the capricious boon, how shall the undeserving Geraldine presume to hope? Enter _Rosabelle_. _Ros._ Oh! my lady, such news, he's arrived, he's in the hall. _Ger._ My Florian? _Ros._ No, lady, not your Florian, but my L'Eclair, not quite so great a hero as his master to be sure, but yet a real, proper, mettlesome soldier every inch; he looks about him among the men so fierce and so warlike; then with the women, he's so impudent, and so audacious;--oh! he's a special fellow. _L'Eclair_ speaks without.