,
And you've seized upon a frivolous excuse
To justify this lamentable ruse.
Mariane. Quite true and well said.
Valere. No doubt, and your soul
Never lost, for love of me, its self-control.
Mariane. Alas! Alas! You may as well think so.
Valere. Yes, I may think so, but my broken heart
Foresees you, too, suffering from Love's dart;
I know to whom I'll take my heart and hand.
Mariane. No doubt, and the love that merit can command...
Valere. Dear God, let's leave merit to one side.
I haven't much of it, as you have signified,
But I know where there's a woman, soft-eyed
And open-hearted . . . and this double-cross
May make her more inclined to recompense my loss.
Mariane. The loss isn't great; and your fickleness
Will soon lead you to find a new mistress.
Valere. I'll do my best--of that you may be sure!
When one is forgotten, it's hard to endure,
And so I, too, must struggle to forget.
If I can't do it, I'll fake it . . . and yet
I could never forgive my own servility
If I kept loving one who abandoned me.
Mariane. What a noble, uplifting sentiment!
Valere. Quite so. Everyone should give it their assent.
What? Do you think that I should perpetuate
The flame of love that I have felt of late,
And see you pass into another's arms
Without letting my heart seek other charms?
Mariane. No, indeed. It's what I want, and I vow
I wish the thing were to happen right now.
Valere. You do?
Mariane. Yes.
Valere. That's enough insults from you,
Madam, and now I will bid you adieu.
[He starts to leave; each time he does so, he quickly comes back.]
Mariane. Very well.
Valere [coming back]. At least remember that you
Are the one who forced me down this avenue.
Mariane. Yes.
Valere. And that I am doing nothing more
Than following the path you took before.
Mariane. So be it.
Valere [leaving]. Fine. I'm doing what you want.
Mariane. Good.
Valere [returning again]. I'm leaving forever--not some short jaunt.
Mariane. The sooner the better.
[He begins to leave and, when he is near the door, he returns.]
Valere. Eh?
Mariane. What?
Valere.