“Charming Emily!” exclaimed the Count in an impassioned tone, “let not resentment make you unjust; let me not suffer for the offence of Montoni!—Revoke—”
“Offence!” interrupted Montoni—“Count, this language is ridiculous, this submission is childish!—speak as becomes a man, not as the slave of a pretty tyrant.”
“You distract me, Signor; suffer me to plead my own cause; you have already proved insufficient to it.”
“All conversation on this subject, sir,” said Emily, “is worse than useless, since it can bring only pain to each of us: if you would oblige me, pursue it no farther.”
“It is impossible, Madam, that I can thus easily resign the object of a passion, which is the delight and torment of my life.—I must still love—still pursue you with unremitting ardour;—when you shall be convinced of the strength and constancy of my passion, your heart must soften into pity and repentance.”
“Is this generous, sir? is this manly? Can it either deserve or obtain the esteem you solicit, thus to continue a persecution from which I have no present means of escaping?”
A gleam of moonlight that fell upon Morano’s countenance, revealed the strong emotions of his soul; and, glancing on Montoni discovered the dark resentment, which contrasted his features.
“By Heaven this is too much!” suddenly exclaimed the Count; “Signor Montoni, you treat me ill; it is from you that I shall look for explanation.”
“From me, sir! you shall have it;” muttered Montoni, “if your discernment is indeed so far obscured by passion, as to make explanation necessary. And for you, madam, you should learn, that a man of honour is not to be trifled with, though you may, perhaps, with impunity, treat a boy like a puppet.”
This sarcasm roused the pride of Morano, and the resentment which he had felt at the indifference of Emily, being lost in indignation of the insolence of Montoni, he determined to mortify him, by defending her.