Jer. My lord, you tremble much.
De Mon.What, do I shake?
Jer. You do, in truth, and your teeth chatter too.
De Mon. See! see they come! he strutting by her side.
(Jane, Rezenvelt, and Countess Freberg appear through the glass-door, pursuing their way up a short walk leading to the other wing of the house.)
Utt'ring with confidence some nauseous jest.
And she endures it too,—Oh! this looks vilely!
Ha! mark that courteous motion of his arm—
What does he mean?—He dares not take her hand!
(Pauses and looks eagerly.) By heaven and hell he does!
(Letting go his hold of Jerome, he throws out his hands vehemently, and thereby pushes him against the scene.)
Jer. Oh! I am stunn'd! my head is crack'd in twain:
Your honour does forget how old I am.
De Mon. Well, well, the wall is harder than I wist.
Begone! and whine within.
[Exit Jerome, with a sad rueful countenance.
(De Monfort comes forward to the front of the stage, and makes a long pause, expressive of great agony of mind.)
