80 A DRAMATIC VERSION OF
BLANCHE.
Oh, sir, do not be more cruel than our
fate itself—to speak as if I could think so.
DENYS.
[Petzes himself.] You will perhaps sigh
once—TI hope you will sigh once !—and then
you will forget, and laugh, and go back to
your old life. Ah! what can I think of all
this?
BLANCHE.
I know what you must think, Monsieur
de Beaulieu; you dare not say it—but you
wrong me. Oh! before God, you wrong
me.
DENYS.
[Distressed.| Don’t! Don’t!
BLANCHE,
Do yield: do marry me! Let me tell
you how it all came about—you are so brave
and young and handsome—I will not have
you die.
DENYS.
You seem to think I stand in great fear of
death.
BLANCHE.
[Flushes at thts boyish rudeness.) But J
will not have you die. I zw22/ marry you.
[With determination,
DENYS.
[Aside.} Here is love’s language—and
Lord knows who’s meaning. [A/ozd.] What
you are too generous to refuse I may be too
proud to accept.
BLANCHE.
[Controls her indignation.] Osir! listen!
I have no mother—no father. I am very
lonely—how can I tell you? [Goes over and
crouches on chair half-sobbing.| Threemonths
ago a young man began to stand near me
in church. I—I could see I pleased him—
and that pleased me; so I listened, when,
as I went down the aisle, he whispered me
such words as I passed—like poetry, they
were so beautiful. I didn’t know it was any
harm—I let him write me letters, I was so
glad that any one should love me. And
yesterday he asked me to meet him on the
stairs, so that he might tell me with his
own voice; but Uncle Alain found the letter,
and oh! oh! [Crzes.]
DENYS.
Poor child! [.4s%de.] By heaven, I do
love her. Was ever a man so ill-placed to
win a woman?
BLANCHE.
I would not have answered it—oh ! Mon-
sieur, I swear to you. I thought no wrong.
But uncle shut me up in the chapel, and said
I was to be married to-morrow—and—and
—set a trap for you.
DENYS.
Mademoiselle, I never thought ill of you,
believe me !
BLANCHE,
Then oh, sir! marry me! You shall
never see me again, and I will—yes! I will
—kill myself, and you shall be free and
happy again. It can’t hurt you much to
say a few words in the chapel with me—
and then go back. But pray for me when
I am dead.
DENYS.
[Strugoling long with emotion, stops himself
Jrom crying and gives a forced laugh.| Here's
romance, if ever there was any. Dog that
I am! To laugh when your pale sweet
little body is all shaken with weeping.
Mademoiselle —Blanche—listen to me, and
do not talk such wild nonsense. I will not