Nourvady.
I love you (Lionnette makes a movement). You know it; and you ought to have foreseen that I should one day tell you so.
Lionnette.
Yes; it is only five minutes ago that my husband and I were speaking about it.
Nourvady.
Do not laugh. You may tell by the tone of my voice that I am very serious. I love you passionately. You do not love me; you do not even think of me. It is probable that you will never love me. I possess nothing of all the essentials to tempt a woman like yourself—except a fortune.
Lionnette (rising to retire).
Sir!
Nourvady.
Have patience! I am not capable of failing in respect towards you, as I love you. You are ruined—irreparably ruined. You can accept, it is true, the proposals that Madame Spadetta has had made to you, and free yourself in that manner. There would be no longer debt, but there would be straitened circumstances, and, perhaps, misery. Without counting that, it would be a great grief for you to give up, for ever, certain letters; a grief that whoever loves you ought to spare you.