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two thousand crowns to give you from a friend, who only prays that you may be happy-farewell.' He was gone before I had time to speak.

Rons. Right! right! [Exultingly, then turns and drinks.] I knew that hussar was an honest dog! Chris. Hey! uniform?

What hussar? Who told you his

Rons. [Embarrassed.] Didn't you yourself?

Chris. Not I. I said a soldier, not hussar. I see now-I see you know more of this than I do. Ronslaus, who is my benefactor? You hesitate. Now I know who it is. There's nobody but you who could have done so generous an action.

Rons. I, indeed! I! Pshaw, child, pshaw !

Chris. Ronslaus, I have not been ashamed to accept your services, and yet you are ashamed to own you have bestowed them.

Rons, No, girl, I glory in it-I glory in it; but 'tisn't I, 'tis my colonel! His pocket-book, which he gave me when dying, contained four thousand crowns, which I determined to divide thus:-two thousand for you, and two thousand for my father:-half to him who gave me life, the other half to her who preserved it. That was no more than just, you know. I charged one of my comrades with your share, and the other half I have lately been with myself; but my father-a veteran-an invalid

Chris. Well

Rons. Had no longer need of it. He had left the service he had gone there [Pointing upwards] to receive his pay.

[Wipes his eyes, pauses a moment, goes to the table again-drinks-makes a sign as if toasting the memory of his father-then returns.

Come! now you've finished your story, I'll finish your bottle. This is as it should be. You deserve to be happy.

Chris. [Sighing ] Happy!

Rons. Yes, and you must be [timidly and fidgeting]; for-he-on whom-you may-deign to-bestow your hand-cannot help making such an-angel-[Seems greatly embarrassed, approaches her as if to take her hand once or twice, then recedes-Aside.] Zounds, Ronslaus! courage, old boy! Don't stand shilly-shally[Rallying-aloud.] Hear me, Miss Christine. For one whole year you have been my file leader. and you were,

always by my side, whether stretched on the cold sod after a hard march, or in the midst of whizzing bullets from the hot fire of the enemy. I have money that I don't know what to do with; I've a heart which has not been given, and a hand which was never raised unworthily:-All are at your service, and 'here I offer them. With forced resolution.] Will you have me?

Chris. Mr.-Mr. Ronslaus-Can it be-thatRons. Will you marry me? Out with it. I've only two hours allowed, and there's no time to lose.

[All this is given awkwardly, with great fidgetiness, and a sort of sheepish manner, seen through the abruptness.]

Chris. I don't know how to express my gratitude. But I what you propose is-impossible-I-oneone ought, at least-you know-one should have time -to-to-love.

Rons. Hey? What? don't you love me, then?
Chris. Why-why-

Rons. Do you love me? Yes, or no?

Chris. Pray-in mercy-Mr.

Rons. "Mr.-Mr.-Come, I hate beating about "the bush." It's a plain question. Answer in one word, yes, or no.

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Chris. Well, then-n-n-no!

Rons. No? not love me?-me! "Can't be Christine. "Why, I'm your brother, your friend: I'd plunge for " your sake into the cannon's mouth. I'd do more for you than for my poor colonel; and for what living reason should'nt you love me?" I love you-with all my heart and soul, I do; and yet you treat me harder than ever German corporal treated a recruit!

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Chris. I feel what you have done for me deeplyyes, deeply! I shall never forget it, never!-But I am not worthy of your kindness, and you must let me give it all back.

Rons. Give it all back! Hang it! There was only that stroke wanting! This girl will make me die of a broken heart.

Chris. Nay, pray-pray, only hear!

Rons. [Pucing violently.] I'll hear nothing.

Chris. Ronslaus !-Ronslaus!

Rons. Nothing!

Chris. Dear Ronslaus!

Rons. (R.) Hey! Go on, Christine, go on.

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Chris. If it should happen that I am not mistress of my choice-if, before I ever saw you, it should so chance that I loved another?

Rons. Another? True-true-I never thought of that! Ay-well-so-you loved another?

Chris. Suppose, I tell you, suppose it were so! what would you say?

If I

Rons. What would I say? I'd say-let him take care of himself-let him keep out of my way. should once get hold of him

Chris. What would you do to him?

Rons. Kill him.

Chris. And why would you kill him?

Rons. For having the impudence to love you.

Chris. And if he did not love me?

[Crosses to L.

Rons. Not love you! Who can help loving you? I should be glad to catch the scoundrel that did not love you.

Chris. And if you did, you'd kill him too, would you

not?

Rons. Why no, no-I-But come-this attachment -Now be frank-tell me-I'm not angry-tell me.

Chris. Three years ago, I left in my native place a cousin who had been my companion from infancy. In parting he plighted his faith to me, and I believed him, for we believe readily what we wish. I have not heard from him since. He did not love me, though he said so; but I loved him, though I said nothing.

Rons. What! you never told him

Chris. Never. I was too poor, and so was he, to think of marrying. But when, thanks to your bounty, I had enough to live on of my own, I wrote to him to come and share it with me, and to make haste-to make haste and marry me.

Rons. And he

Chris. He never came.

And yet he got the letterOh! I'm sure he got the letter:-that was the time I bought the inn.

Rons. Now you see you've nothing to expect from him, what are you waiting for in order to be happy? Chris. Alas, I only wait to feel that I no longer love him.

Rons. Christine, you are an honest girl.-You would not deceive me. I see, I see it's all over.

[Clapping his hand on his heart.] You have it there, girl, there-and what's once there sticks fast-fastfast. [Emphatically turning away.

Chris. [Sighs.] Ay!

Rons. Right! right-I'll come this way a few months hence, I-[Going to take his cap, stops short, and returns]-Only promise me, Christine, that if you can forget your cousin, you'll think of me.

Chris. Oh! with all my heart, I promise.

Rons. Good. One day you'll be Mrs. Ronslaus [Laughing and racket of many voices heard within, calling, "Waiter! landlady! Ha, ha, ha, ha!" &c.] Chris. They're calling. I must run. You're at home here. Remember, you're quite at home.

[Exit CHRISTINE into the Inn. Rons. [Looking after her.] Would to heaven I were indeed at home!

Enter CARLITZ whistling lazily over the mountain, with a bundle across his shoulder, at the end of a stick. RONSLAUS still gazing after CHRISTINE.

Carl. Beg pardon, Mr. for coming upon you so; but if you can only tell me the nearest road to the next town, you'll oblige me very much, Mr. Soldier.

Rons. [Turning.] Hallo! I know that voice! Bless my heart! 'tis poor Carlitz! Don't you remember me, lad? Don't you remember me a month ago at the farm in the forest, thirty leagues off?

[Holding out his hand to him. Carl. [Shaking hands awkwardly.] Ah! yes, yes. You belong to that regiment that drove off the enemy the day of the battle near our farm. Ay, a hot day's work. I fought, too, that day with a pitchfork; and when the general saw me, he laughed, and named me "soldier" on the field; but nothing came of the nomination; for, like many a brave fellow, I had only a smile for my service, and then was straight forgotten. [Casting down his bundle and stick by the side of the stone table.

Rons. So it seems you've left the farm?

Carl. Yes, Mr. Soldier; I am no longer a ploughjogger; I'm an officer.

Rons. An officer

Carl. Civil, Mr. Soldier-a civil officer. I've a place ander government. I got it by patronage. "Twas

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Peter Linski, town-clerk, that got me named horse-post for two leagues round our village.

Rons. Yes, one would take you for a post.

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Carl. Horse, if you please-horse-post!-that is, till I lost my horse; for last night a party of the enemy's troops fell in with me, or fell out with me, should say-for, after parading me a few leagues blindfold, they set me down in the middle of the wood, gave me a cuff by the side of the head, and rode off with my horse and bags, leaving me nothing but what you see; so I've been trudging it on foot ever since, not knowing where I was, more than the child unborn.

Rons. Then you've had no breakfast?

Carl. Not a morsel. This is the first house I've come to; and one's feelings, on encountering a tavern sigu, depend very much upon the state of one's pocket, you know. I daren't go in, so I've only ventured here

to ask

Rons. What, lad! hungry and tired, too! Here, [taking him to the stone table] here you shall eat, Crink, and be joyful! Don't be afraid. I pay all. Carl. What, you? No! You don't say so? pay all?

Rons. That seems to astonish you.

You

Carl. Not at all. "Twould astonish me a great deal more to pay for it myself. But I don't like you should spend your money for me, though.

Rons. Come, no flinching. I'm at home here. Hallo! waiter! But they're all busy. I'll go myself. One's always quicker served to help ones-self. Rest yourself there You need rest-I'll come back presently—rest, rest. [Exit RONSLAUS into the house. Carl. I wasn't over and above pleased to meet this soldier; for he's a devil of a fellow-as surly as a pioneer-and he uses his sabre with as little ceremony. as I use my spurs; but he's a good fellow at heart, for he stands treat, and I couldn't have kept up any longer. [Casts himself at full length on the green bank.] One finds friends where one least expects. Just as we fancy it's all over with us, something pops up unlooked for, to show that Providence never forgets us so long as we don't forget ourselves. When I'm rich, I'll make it up to this soldier-and I shall be rich-ay, ay, I shall work my way in the world, I am sure I shall. Peter Linski was in the right. It's foolish to get married; for then all great projects stop-one comes to a dead stand—

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