Let me look at your face, and listen to your voice, while I can--while
I can!

PAUL.

How strangely you say this!

DIANE.

Do you remember the old days--before this reign of terror darkened all
our lives--the sunny room in my father's chateau, where you taught
me to paint the flowers we had gathered--oh! so gaily!--from the
quaintest corners of the garden?

PAUL.

Ah! those were ideal days.--You, almost a child--a girl just blooming
into womanhood, like those rosebuds in your hair.

DIANE.

Oh, how happy I was!--So happy, earth seemed heaven! So happy, sorrow
seemed almost a myth!--I little dreamed that I would ever drink the
bitterest dregs of that black cup.--The Revolution rushed upon us--and
then, oh then!--

[_Hides her face on_ PAUL'S _breast_.

PAUL.

Then we parted, I thought forever.

DIANE.

You came no longer. The sunshine lost its smile--the flowers faded.

PAUL.

And yet, amidst the fearful tumult of these distracted times, we met
once more.

DIANE.

[_Starting up_.]

Oh, my God! That meeting! I see the frightful scene again! My father
there before me--old--helpless, dragged from his own house by a horde
of brutal beasts.--I, shrieking, fighting vainly at his side--amidst
their mocking laughs and jeers. Ah! I can hear them now--yes, and
high above their hideous jests, rings out a clarion voice--'tis
yours--silencing this crowd of curs!--With what sublime audacity you
claim my father as your cousin, saving him and me, by the coolness of
your courage!--Paul, from that hour you were more than man to me; you
were a God, a hero, my father's Saviour!

PAUL.

[_Rising_.]

Better than all that now--your lover--guardian--husband.

[_Embraces her, then staggers_.

DIANE.

Paul--what is it?

PAUL.

Nothing,--fatigue from last night's bitter work.

[DIANE _brings wine and offers it. He puts it away_.]

No--one kiss from you will give me more strength than all the wine in
France.

[_She kisses him_.

DIANE.

Heaven knows you need more than human strength.

PAUL.

Aye, Titan strength, to stem the tide of madness that overflows the
mind of France! Ah, Diane! if it were not for your dear love, I fear
my mind would falter at the task before me.

DIANE.

Oh, Paul! Why undertake this task?--Why not fly to peace in other
lands?

PAUL.

Fly!--Desert France in the hour of her agony?--In the awful travail
which gives birth to a new and nobl