DUKE.
No, not all, for I shall die first, fighting in the ranks.
GOUROC.
But Diane, your daughter--?
DUKE.
Must take the chances of a soldier's child.
GOUROC.
You forget her peril from this scoundrel, Carrac.--Why not put her
safely out of the reach of such a brute?
DUKE.
How?
GOUROC.
There are vessels here by which we can escape to England.
DUKE.
I fly no further. I owe the King and country service here.
GOUROC.
Then let Diane go with me to friends in London. When I've found for
her safe asylum, I'll return to do my duty at your side.
DUKE.
The daughter of a peer of France could hardly go so far without
protection worthy of her rank.
GOUROC.
That she can secure as a Marquise, and my wife.
[_The_ DUKE _turns quickly in surprise_.]
I know, dear Duke, that you are richer, nobler than myself, but then
the love I bear your daughter, together with the dangers that surround
her life and honour here--
DUKE.
Say no more!--There's nothing that would ease my mind so much as to
see Diane your wife.
GOUROC.
Then plead my cause with her.
DUKE.
I'll more than plead.--Her perils urge me to command this marriage.
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