BLANCHE: Only to church. It is so dull in town That, were it not for you, dear, I should like To go back to Chinon. TRIBOULET: It would be best; put now I could not live in solitude. My darling, I have no one in the world But you to love me! [_Hiding his face in his hands, he weeps._ BLANCHE: Father, trust in me. Tell me your name and calling. Every night You come by stealth to see me; every day You disappear. Oh, how it troubles me To see you weep! TRIBOULET: You would be troubled more If you could see me laugh! No, no, my child! Know me but as your father; let me be Something that you can venerate and love. BLANCHE: My father! TRIBOULET: But I cannot stay to-night; I only came to see if you were safe. Good-bye, my darling! Do not leave the house. [_While he is speaking,_ KING FRANÇOIS _glides into the courtyard, and hides behind a tree there. He is dressed like a student._ BLANCHE: Good-bye, my father! THE KING: Father! Triboulet Her father! What a joke! TRIBOULET: May God guard you! [_He kisses her again and departs._ BLANCHE _stands at the door watching him, and_ DAME BERARDE, _her housekeeper, joins her._ BLANCHE: I have not told him. DAME BERARDE: What? BLANCHE: That a young man Follows me when I come from church. DAME BERARDE (_laughing_): You wish To chase this handsome man away? BLANCHE: Ah, no! 1 think he loves me. Oh, when Sunday comes I shall be happy! DAME BERARDE: I should think he was Some noble lord. BLANCHE: No! Lords, my father says, Are men of little faith or honesty. I hope he is a poor young scholar, filled With noble thoughts rather than noble blood. How long it is to Sunday! Would he were Kneeling before me here. I then would say Be happy, for I---- [_The_ KING _comes from behind the tree, and kneels before her._ THE KING: Love you! Say it sweet: I love you! BLANCHE: If my father comes! Ah, go! THE KING: Go? When my life is bound to yours? Sweet Blanche, There is one heavenly thing alone on earth, And that is love. Glory and wealth and power Are base and worthless when compared with it. Blanche, it is happiness your lover brings, Happiness, shyly waiting on your wish. Life is a flower, and love the honey of life. Come, let us taste it, mouth to mouth, my sweet. [_Taking her in his arms, he kisses her._ BLANCHE: I do not know your name. Are you a lord? My father does not like them. THE KING (_confused_): Yes.... My name-- Gaucher Mahiet, a poor young scholar. DAME BERARDE: Look! Someone is coming.