fulfil at once your father's last injunction?

VIC.--Ah! but this isn't the _last_ time, Henri; I'll wager you this
hand with my heart in it, you will ask me the same question a dozen
times yet ere you die.

COUNT.--I'll not gainsay you, lady; time will show. (_A short pause._)
Yet, by my sword, if such your wager be, I will be dumb till doomsday.

VIC.--Then book the bet! and claim my heart and hand--(_she pauses--he
waits in eager hope_)--on--doomsday morning, cousin!

COUNT.--I claim thee now or never!

VIC.--If they only hadn't said we _must_, Henri!

COUNT.--Pshaw!

VIC.--Beside, all the world _expects_ it you know; I do so hate to
fulfil people's expectations: it is so commonplace and humdrum!

COUNT.--Depend upon it, Lady Victorine, nobody ever expected you to do
any thing reasonable or commonplace or humdrum!

(_He Sings._)

Archly on thy cheek,
Worth a god's imprinting,
Starry dimples speak,
Rich with rosy tinting,--
What a pity, love,
Anger's burning flushes
E'er should rise above
Those bewitching blushes!

Warm thy lip doth glow,
With such lovely color,
Ruby's heart would show
Hues of beauty duller,--
What a shame, the while,
Scorn should ever curl it,
And o'ercast the smile
That should still enfurl it!

Soft thy dark eye beams,
With the star-night's splendor,
Now with joy it gleams,
Now with tears 'tis tender,--
Ah! what pain to feel,
Ere another minute,
Passion's fire may steal
All the softness in it!

VIC.--There! you CAN _sing_! I'll give the----hem!--his due. I only wish
you could make love as well as you make verses.

COUNT.--And how should I make love?

VIC.--How? You should be at my feet all day and under my window all
night; you should call black white when _I_ call it so, and--wear a
single hair of my eyelash next your heart for ever.

COUNT.--Hum! Any thing more, cousin?

VIC.--Yes: you should write sonnets on the sole of my shoe, and study
every curve of my brow, as if life and death were in its rise or fall!
(_He turns away._) Henri, come here! (_He approaches._) Come! you are a
good-looking man enough, after all! Ah! why couldn't my poor father have
_forbidden_ me to marry you! He might have known I should have been
_sure_ in that case to have fallen desperately in love with you, Henri!

COUNT.--By Heaven, I will bear this trifling no long