hev._ Your goodness consoles me; but, O heavens! do you refuse me that
precious gift, your daughter?

_Aram._ You must not hope to have her, Signor. It may be ten years
before you are in a state to marry. Live in freedom, and leave my
daughter to her destiny. If you approve it, thus much I offer. I will
lend you the sum necessary to purchase military rank, and even a
regiment; depending for repayment upon circumstances, and your word of
honour.

_Chev._ I may die, Madame.

_Aram._ And I may lose my money; but not the recollection of having done
justice to merit, and a worthy gentleman.

_Chev._ Noble generosity! Yet--your daughter--

_Aram._ I speak absolutely--you must not think of her.

_Chev._ Surely it is possible that love and constancy--

_Aram._ Let us see, what sum will you want? You have friends?

_Chev._ A few.

_Aram._ I may increase the number. Let us retire where we can speak more
freely.

_Chev._ Wherever you please. [_Calls._] Fiorillo!

_Aram._ Poor youth! The victim of his father's imbecility. [_Exit._

SCENE XIII.--_Enter_ Fiorillo.

_Chev._ Listen, Fiorillo! Tell my father--Here he comes. I have not time
to speak to him. Say I am with Madame Dorimene. [_Exit._

_Fior._ With the ladies! He is unusually gay. Perhaps his affairs have
taken a lucky turn.

SCENE XIV.--_Enter the_ Marquis.

_Marq._ Well, the coachman--A rascal!--Returned yet?

_Fior._ The coachman is not to blame, Signor.

_Marq._ How so? I am--Good, good, excellent!--Had they gone out?

_Fior._ Who, Signor?

_Marq._ My daughter, and--What did the dog say?--Yes, at once--To the
devil!

_Fior._ You should not be angry, Signor. I met him loaded like a porter:
his horses were hungry and restive, he went to buy corn.

_Marq._ How? Very fine--The Count--The stables--

_Fior._ Ah, yes, none can be finer; but without a single oat, nor dares
the coachman buy any, without an express order from his master. Oh, the
miser!

_Marq._ Who? Who? Good, good, excellent! A miser!

_Fior._ There is not such another on earth.

_Marq._ Who, I say? Blockhead! Fool! The Count--a man!--Go, go,
numskull!

_Fior._ Everybody I have spoken with, in the house and out of the house,
servants, tradesmen, or neighbours, all say the same. Nay, Frontino, his
chief favourite, can stay with him no longer.

_Marq._ How! Could it be?--He refused me his coach?

_Fior._ From avarice. He walks, for fear of tiring his horses.

_Ma