SCENE II.--_An open country, Corbey Abbey in the distance. At the right wing the gates of the town of Corbey; at the left wing the chateau of baron_ Ravensburg. _Enter countess_ Roland _and_ Ulrica, _from the chateau._ _Countess._ So, this is grateful; this is graceful. Answer me. Who has maintained you? who has educated you? and from whom did you get these fine clothes and fine manners? From me! you took your manners from me! _Ulrica._ Took your manners! Lord, aunt! and yet you call me ungrateful! _Coun._ And last summer, who took a fine house for you at Aix-la-Chapelle? and, starting you on a matrimonial speculation, so dazzled and decoyed old baron Ravensburg, that he not only invited us to his chateau here, but selected you to be his son's wife, the wife to the hero of Palestine. And yet, though I told you, modern friends followed new houses as naturally as rats run from old ones, you were for my laying out my last florin on a cottage, a cheap paltry cottage. _Ul._ And why, aunt? Because I thought we should both most like what we were most used to. _Coun._ Most used to! _Ul._ To be sure. Till a few years ago, when you went to live at Roland castle, did'nt you keep such a snug little cot in Franconia, that you might have packed it up and taken it with you? _Coun._ My Franconia cottage! mercy on me! _Ul._ Yes. Don't I still wish myself in that cot? I do, I do: for it's all very well if a person have the misfortune to be born a fine lady--but to be made one; to be taught to talk without thinking, stare without looking, and be red without blushing! Lord, who'd go and waste money at fairs and carnivals, when they might see curiosities in every great house for nothing! _Coun._ If you dare hint to baron Ravensburg-- _Ul._ Not I! I dare no more tell baron Ravensburg what you once were, than I dare tell your rural relations what you now are: for if he knew you were once Winifred Winbuttle, and they knew--Lord! Lord! if those I so long lived with, if aunt Alice, and her son Christopher--dear darling cousin Christopher! _Countess_ (_who has been walking about in a rage_). Jade! Jezabel! how often must I remind you, that I no longer acknowledge this Franconia relationship? That I am, and have been, since last winter, of pure, noble, Norman extraction, and widow of the great count Roland, madam, who, struck with my charms, soon married me, madam, and being married, soon died, madam. _Ulrica._ Very, very soon. And you may well take it to heart; for, alas! his estate went with his title--went to his nephew, young count Roland, who, after an absence of many years, returned from his travels on that most melancholy day. (_half crying._) _Countess_ (_weeping._) He did; and grief, grief prevented my seeing him; but you saw him Ulrica, and by what I heard of the tender interview, if the count hadn't been suddenly called away again----Oh! 'tis a sweet estate? one third of it would be consolation for any loss.