“I do reject it.”
“Monsieur Fouquet, look at me,” said the marquise, with glistening eyes, “I now offer you my love.”
“Oh, madame,” exclaimed Fouquet.
“I have loved you for a long while past; women, like men, have a false delicacy at times. For a long time past I have loved you, but would not confess it. Well, then, you have implored this love on your knees, and I have refused you; I was blind, as you were a little while since; but as it was my love that you sought, it is my love I now offer you.”
“Oh! madame, you overwhelm me beneath a load of happiness.”
“Will you be happy, then, if I am yours—entirely?”
“It will be the supremest happiness for me.”
“Take me, then. If, however, for your sake I sacrifice a prejudice, do you, for mine, sacrifice a scruple.”
“Do not tempt me.”
“Do not refuse me.”