“You cannot love one whose peace of mind you hold so lightly, and whom you so cruelly abandoned, last night, to the bitterness of death.”
“What can you mean? Explain yourself, Louise.”
“What did you ask me yesterday morning? To love you. What did you promise me in return? Never to let midnight pass without offering me an opportunity of reconciliation, if, by any chance, your anger should be roused against me.”
“Oh! forgive me, Louise, forgive me! I was mad from jealousy.”
“Jealousy is a sentiment unworthy of a king—a man. You may become jealous again, and will end by killing me. Be merciful, then, and leave me now to die.”
“Another word, mademoiselle, in that strain, and you will see me expire at your feet.”
“No, no, sire, I am better acquainted with my own demerits; and believe me, that to sacrifice yourself for one whom all despise, would be needless.”
“Give me the names of those you have cause to complain of.”
“I have no complaints, sire, to prefer against any one; no one but myself to accuse. Farewell, sire; you are compromising yourself in speaking to me in such a manner.”
“Oh! be careful, Louise, in what you say; for you are reducing me to the darkness of despair.”