Mel. Hush, hush! for mercy's sake! Speak not, but go.
[Widow ascends the stairs; PAULINE follows weeping--turns to look back.
Mel. [sinking down]. All angels bless and guard her!
The cottage as before--MELNOTTE seated before a table--writing implements, etc.--(Day breaking.)
Mel. Hush, hush!--she sleeps at last!--thank Heaven, for a while she forgets even that I live! Her sobs, which have gone to my heart the whole, long, desolate night, have ceased!--all calm--all still! I will go now; I will send this letter to Pauline's father: when he arrives, I will place in his hands my own consent to the divorce, and then, O France! my country! accept among thy protectors, thy defenders--the peasant's Son! Our country is less proud than custom, and does not refuse the blood, the heart, the right hand of the poor man.
Widow. My son, thou hast acted ill; but sin brings its own punishment. In the hour of thy remorse, it is not for a mother to reproach thee.
Mel. What is past is past. There is a future left to all men, who have the virtue to repent, and the energy to atone. Thou shalt be proud of thy son yet. Meanwhile, remember this poor lady has been grievously injured. For the sake of thy son's conscience, respect, honor, bear with her. If she weep, console--if she chide, be silent. 'Tis but a little while more--I shall send an express fast as horse can speed to her father. Farewell! I shall return shortly.
Widow. It is the only course left to thee--thou wert led astray, but thou art not hardened. Thy heart is right still, as ever it was when, in thy most ambitious hopes thou wert never ashamed of thy poor mother.
Mel. Ashamed of thee; No, if I yet endure, yet live, yet hope,--it is only because I would not die till I have redeemed the noble heritage I have lost--the heritage I took unstained from thee and my dead father--a proud conscience and an honest name. I shall win them back yet--heaven bless you! [Exit.
Widow. My dear Claude! How my heart bleeds for him.
[PAULINE looks down from above, and after a pause descends
Pauline. Not here!--he spares me that pain at least: so far he is considerate--yet the place seems still more desolate without him. Oh, that I could hate him--the gardener's son!--and yet how nobly he--no--no--no I will not be so mean a thing as to forgive him!