JOHN.
Yours, Alfred?
ALFRED.
Read this, if you doubt, and decide,
JOHN (reading the letter).
"I hear from Bigorre you are there. I am told
You are going to marry Miss Darcy. Of old--"
What is this?
ALFRED.
Read it on to the end, and you'll know.
JOHN (continues reading).
"When we parted, your last words recorded a vow--
What you will" . . .
Hang it! this smells all over, I swear,
Of adventurers and violets. Was it your hair
You promised a lock of?
ALFRED.
Read on. You'll discern.
JOHN (continues).
"Those letters I ask you, my lord, to return." . . .
Humph! . . . Letters! . . . the matter is worse than I guess'd;
I have my misgivings--
ALFRED.
Well, read out the rest,
And advise.
JOHN.
Eh? . . . Where was I?
(continues.)
"Miss Darcy, perchance,
Will forego one brief page from the summer romance
Of her courtship." . . .
Egad! a romance, for my part,
I'd forego every page of, and not break my heart!
ALFRED.
Continue.
JOHN (reading).
"And spare you one day from your place
At her feet." . . .
Pray forgive me the passing grimace.
I wish you had MY place!
(reads)
"I trust you will feel
I desire nothing much. Your friend," . . .
Bless me! "Lucile?"
The Countess de Nevers?
ALFRED.
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