We fly to-night to Vendee, where we hope you may soon rejoin
us, and our cousin Rochejacquelein.
GOUROC.
[_Aside_.]
The devil!--
[_Aloud_.]
You are fortunate, Duke. Alas that I cannot go with you!
DUKE.
Well, come, Diane; time flies. We must prepare for our escape.
[_Going with_ DIANE.]
Au revoir, Marquis.
GOUROC.
Au revoir, Monsieur le Duc, and bon voyage, Mademoiselle de Beaumont.
[_Exeunt the_ DUKE _and_ DIANE. GOUROC _changes to a fierce and
hurried manner_.]
Ah!--Not so fast, dear Duke! You're not out of France yet. This sudden
flight destroys all my plans. Again this girl, the heiress of ten
millions, will get beyond my reach.--No!--death, dishonour--nothing
shall snatch her from me now!--Aye, but how to prevent it?
[_Reflecting_.]
The Duke has not many years to live, and in these ticklish times old
men's days are easily shortened. He dead, his daughter's at my mercy.
[_With sudden triumph_.]
I have it!--I see the way to place her wholly in my grip!--A brilliant
move and easy to execute!--Kauvar knows nothing of my rank!
[_Rings bell, goes to desk and begins to look at papers_.]
Yes, these are what I need to guarantee my triumph!
[_Enter_ POTIN.
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