Representative Plays by American Dramatists: 1856-1911: Paul Kauvar; or, Anarchy | Page 9

my life in saving yours, and his! He loves but little if he hesitates to keep the precious life I saved unmarred by sorrow.
DIANE. Well, then, so be it! Have your will! But oh, seek first his blessing for our love, before you tell him of our secret marriage.
PAUL.
My love for you will teach me tenderness for him. Go now and send him here.
[Kissing her.]
Courage! All may yet be well.
[Exit DIANE. PAUL sits at desk wearily.]
Hateful humiliation!--to stoop in pleading for that already mine! But patience, Paul Kauvar; he is the father of the woman you adore.
DUKE.
[Entering and advancing to PAUL.]
One word before we part, good friend. I thought to leave this house without farewell, but I cannot be so cruel. I have learned that this is no longer a safe retreat. I am forced to seek one safer.
PAUL.
And where will you find one, Monsieur?
DUKE. I shall best serve you by keeping that a secret.
PAUL.
And does your daughter go with you?
DUKE.
Could you think that I would leave her here?
PAUL.
Certainly, Monsieur. If to stay seemed less perilous than to go. Why not let me replace you for awhile?
DUKE.
You guard my daughter here alone?
PAUL.
In my character of cousin to Diane Leblanc, gossip has already united us by even a closer tie.
DUKE.
To my infinite annoyance, sir.
PAUL.
Monsieur le Duc, in times like these, Madame Kauvar would be far safer than Mademoiselle de Beaumont.
DUKE.
[With quiet hauteur.]
There are some means of safety forbidden to my rank, sir.--Pardon me if I must say that what you suggest is one of them.
PAUL.
What if I dared to love your daughter, to hope that you would grant me the right to guard her as my wife?
DUKE.
Seriously?
PAUL.
Seriously!
DUKE.
[Shrugging his shoulders.]
This is another of the many insanities of the times.
PAUL.
[Haughtily.]
Suppose I had reason to believe that your daughter would consent?
DUKE.
[Sternly.]
One moment, Monsieur! Your first proposition involves but madness,--your last implies dishonour.
PAUL.
[Indignantly.]
Dishonour!
[Checking himself.]
Monsieur, honesty is honoured now, even though it be not allied to an empty title. Tis not a crest, but character, that measures manhood in this modern age. Therefore I do not fear to tell you--
[DUKE turns quickly. PAUL hesitates.]
that I love your daughter.
DUKE.
[With terrible contempt.]
And you take this time to declare it! When you have burdened me with obligations that leave me powerless at your feet?--when I must see in the demand for the daughter's hand, a possible bargain for the father's life.
[PAUL _turns fiercely. The_ DUKE checks him.]
No more, sir! Happily I have two securities against dishonour: my child's sense of what is due to herself--my own scorn of life purchased at such a price.
PAUL.
Perhaps your daughter may not deem the protection of my name so great a degradation as yourself.--Dare you put her to the test?
DUKE.
What test can you propose?
PAUL.
[Seating himself at desk and writing.]
Here is a pass procured at the risk of my life.--I fill it out for George Leblanc.--It will convey you, alone, safely beyond our borders. Here is another. I make this out for George Leblanc and Diane his daughter. This will enable both of you to escape.--These passes have the signatures of the chief of police; I countersign them, thus--a double surety for you, a double risk for me.--Now, Monsieur, either one of these passes is yours, as your daughter may decide, if you will offer her the choice of remaining under my protection, or of leaving France with you.
DUKE.
[Striking a bell.]
The choice is at her will.
[Enter NANETTE.]
Send my daughter here at once.
[Exit NANETTE.
PAUL.
One word, Monsieur. These passes are at stake, and my life as well. I promise to be bound by the decision of your daughter.--If she decides to remain, you promise to go and leave her here with me?
DUKE. I promise this on one condition. I pledge my honour to put the alternative fairly before her. You must pledge yours to use no word to influence her choice.
PAUL.
I pledge myself to silence.
DIANE.
[Entering pale and anxious.]
You sent for me, Father?
DUKE.
I did. Listen, child. I am about to leave France. By my side there is peril--here is safety. Answer frankly: will you follow me, or remain here under the protection of Monsieur Kauvar?
DIANE.
[Aside.]
What can this mean? He could not ask this if he knew the truth.
[Aloud.]
Father, I do not understand.--What shall I say?
DUKE.
What your heart prompts, child.
[Turning away.]
Nay, do not hesitate; I will not influence your choice even with a look.
DIANE.
If I shrink from danger, if I stay here, what becomes of you?
DUKE.
I go alone.
DIANE.
Alone to meet your peril?--Then, by the bond of a daughter's duty, my place is at my father's side.
[PAUL _staggers. The_ DUKE retires quietly to desk. DIANE speaks aside to PAUL.]
Remember he is old, with none but me to comfort his last days.
PAUL.
[_With stern self-control_.]
Monsieur, the double pass for George Leblanc and Diane his daughter has been fairly won.
[Hands the pass to the DUKE, _bows coldly, and leaves the room without