 | The Two Marriages |  |
Scene 5.
The same room in the château.—Beatrice and the Officer alone together. She is working or reading by his side; he is resting on a sofa, still weak from his wound, but evidently much better. His face, however, is still heavenly bandaged and a good deal concealed.Bea.
—But so soon, Edward?
Off.
—It is not soon, when one is in love—or
in hate.
Bea.
—In hate! you never used to talk about
hate, Edward; that is a new word
from you, surely.
[He is slightly confused, but quickly recovers himself.
Off.
—Ah! but one learns all about hate in
fighting, you see; the sword soon
teaches. Well, you have driven me
to this miserable war; you said “Will
you fight for me?” and I said “Yes,”
and now I have fought for you and
for France sufficiently I think, having
very nearly got killed in doing it, and
I want my reward. You promised,
you know; will you give it me? I
have got well with wonderful rapidity
through your good nursing, and it is
perfectly evident also that, though I
am so much better—quite well enough
to be married in fact—I shall not be
events. France must fight her own
battles now, without the aid of my
sword-arm, whatever that may be
worth. Love, when will you marry
me? To-day?
Bea.
—To-day! Perfect simpleton! Of
all goosey men I think you are the
most goosey! A silly baby! You
forget about dress and preparations,
and orange blossoms, and blossoms of
bridesmaids and friends, and a big
snow-topped wedding-cake—the most
indispensable adjunct of all, from a
lady's point of view—and—and—and
all sorts of things!
Off.
—Well, as to the dressing, you have
done enough of that in dressing my
wound so tenderly and efficiently, I
think
(he kisses her)
; and as to the
orange-blossoms, are there not flowers
enough in the garden
(he looks from the
window)
—besides your own lips, the
softest blossoms of all?
Bea.
—Nonsense! there must be better blossoms
than those, to make anything of
a wedding. Still, the circumstances
are exceptional, and I am ready to
take into my earnest consideration,
sir, your somewhat alarming proposal.
I owe you a good deal, I admit
(speaking very earnestly, and looking
,
for my silly girlish conduct
in Paris, and I am anxious, love,
to make what reparation I can. I do
want to make you happy.
Off.
—It lies in your power to do that, very
easily.
Bea.
—I will do what you tell me. Make
me do what you want. You must
carry me off by force, like the
strong lovers of old—like Queen
Mary and Bothwell. I shall pretend
to tremble, and hate you, and resist;
but you must not mind that, you
know, that will be all nonsense. Make
me marry you.
Off.
—Good, sweet. You shall marry me—I
like this game and I flatter myself I
can play well at it!
(this half aside).
You shall marry me to-morrow!
Bea.
—Sir, you will not be a very charming
husband, nor have you, let me tell you,
been a very lovely suitor, with your
head all bandaged up and hidden
in that way, and all scarred too!
(Passing from laughter and badinage to
a more tender mood)
—I am sorry they
have hurt you and spoilt you so!
Do you know you are very ugly now,
and you used to be so handsome:
sometimes I hardly recognise you.
What is the
matter?
Off.
—Only my wound, dear. It twitches a
good deal sometimes.
Bea.
—Sometimes I hardly know you, and
the priest when he marries us—yes,
to-morrow, if you like, you most
violent and reckless and foolish of
lovers—the priest when he marries
us, will hardly be able to see your
face. You are not a pretty lover!
Off.
—You are handsome enough for both. I
am satisfied.
Bea.
—Am I so handsome still? Ah, Edward,
I have suffered a great deal in this
short time, since we met in Paris,
and suffering has taught me much. I
feel so old!
Off.
—You will be young and happy again
soon, darling. I will make you happy.
The time to which I have looked forward
all my life with great throbs of
intense passion has come at last—at
last. Kiss me.
(She leans over his
couch and obeys).
| The Two Marriages | |