Hol. Don’t be angry, I entreat of you; nor don’t laugh at me.
Con. I am neither angry with you, nor in the mood to laugh at you. But what would you have me say to you?
Hol. Ah! Cons—madame!
Con. You are doubtless very unhappy. I feel for you; your sufferings touch me nearly.
Hol. (making a step towards her; he stops.) My chi——
Con. You must leave London, and when you see me no more you will forget me.
Hol. You are right. I will go far, far away—but first—
Con. In truth it is the only advice I can give you—see me no more—go.
Hol. I will go—but—
Con. It must be! Adieu!