[DIANE sits near the fire; the DUKE and GOUROC at table.]

Now try to smile a bit.

DIANE.

I have forgotten how.

[Calling.]

Jean!

JEAN.

[Crossing to DIANE.]

Yes, Madame?

DIANE.

Hush!  Do not let my father hear you call me Madame.

[Converses aside with JEAN.

GOUROC.

[Taking a newspaper from table.]

Strange!—­a Paris journal, dated the day after our escape.

DUKE.

[Taking the paper.]

There may be some notice of our flight.

[Reads.

JEAN.

[To DIANE.]

Will you never confess your marriage to Kauvar?

DIANE.

Never!—­Unless he finds us with evidence of innocence none can question.

JEAN.

He will!  We can trust the wit of his deep love for that.

DIANE.

So you believe him innocent?

JEAN.

As innocent as my own sweetheart, dear Denise.

[DIANE weeps.]

What—­tears, Madame?

DIANE.

Tears of triumph—­that your heart echoes mine!  Ah, Jean, we two, alone, of all the world, believe he’s not a traitor.

DUKE.

Here’s a list of martyrs slaughtered the day that we escaped.

GOUROC.

[Taking the paper.]

And here’s a name underlined with ink.

[Starting up with great joy.]

By heaven, your own!—­See!—­In the list of fallen heads—­the Duc de
Beaumont!

[The DUKE takes paper.

DIANE.

[Coming toward GOUROC.]

You speak of the man who took my father’s place, as though you exulted in his death!—­Was he an enemy of yours?

GOUROC.

I rejoice that the man’s disguise was not discovered—­for the report of your father’s death prevented our pursuit.

DUKE.

[Joyfully to GOUROC.]

You remember the Abbe de St. Simon?

GOUROC.