That is all right. I am already honoured with a fine title.
LUC. Pray, sir, who has invented this nice story which has been spread
about today?
VAL. Pardon me, charming creature. My servant has been babbling; our
marriage is discovered, without my consent.
LUC. Our marriage?
VAL. Everything is known, adorable Lucile; it is vain to dissemble.
LUC. What! the ardour of my passion has made you my husband?
VAL. It is a happiness which causes a great many heart-burnings. But I
impute the successful result of my courtship less to your great passion
for me than to your kindness of heart. I know you have cause to be
offended, that it was the secret which you would fain have concealed. I
myself have put a restraint on my ardour, so that I might not violate
your express commands; but...
MASC. Yes, it was I who told it. What great harm is done?
LUC. Was there ever a falsehood like this? Dare you mention this in my
very presence, and hope to obtain my hand by this fine contrivance? What
a wretched lover you are--you, whose gallant passion would wound my
honour, because it could not gain my heart; who wish to frighten my
father by a foolish story, so that you might obtain my hand as a reward
for having vilified me. Though everything were favourable to your
love--my father, fate, and my own inclination--yet my well-founded
resentment would struggle against my own inclination, fate, and my
father, and even lose life rather than be united to one who thought to
obtain my hand in this manner.
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