Girard Some perfection! Alas, you make her worse, when you come here to refine her wit. You make her heart more false and more vain.
Widow At nine years, she was already a coquette in embryo. I have only pointed her in her natural direction—so her beauty will not prove worthless and she will profit by a fine marriage. I only want Lisette to be wise. She's naturally exquisite, and I've simply added to her talents all that I have learned.
Girard
With so many perfections you will make her a prodigy of coquetry.
Widow So much the better, I tell you. That's what makes beauty and wit valued. We've argued about this so many times. By coquette I mean a girl who is very wise; who knows how to take advantage of other's foibles; who always exhibits sangfroid in the midst of dangers. One who profits from opportunity which she knows how to manage and uses her reason when we lose ours. A wise coquette is more knowing than anyone else because she is always exposed and always in a battle. One cannot deny that the strongest virtue is one that undergoes and survives the hardest tests. The coquette has prerogatives much more beautiful than a prude's. That beautiful right is the right of being happy. A prude, in her life, marries, but once or twice, but the clever coquette never marries at all. She flatters, she raises hopes, she promises, but she never gives in—thus through her wisdom leaving each one to his love and desires, she makes pleasure last.
Girard In my opinion Lisette is making my pain too harsh. It's useless to complain to her father, alas, complaining is no good. He scorns me.
Widow Yes, because you are leaving your condition in life. You are soliciting my relative and you are only a flat foot.
Girard Very flat-footed, right. But, without belittling myself. Do I owe Lucas respect? He owes me some, perhaps. But now each of us rests on his pedestal, and for a collector to be the son-in-law of a farmer, it's by right of the game.
Widow Good. It's an old game. Regretfully, I see your scheme is in ruins. Lisette repents of having considered you, and she says she no longer intends to have Girard. Now, the proud father and daughter find that your fortune is too recent. Everywhere you find ungrateful hearts, as in the village, even with regrets. But, during some times, gamble, pilfer, respect, trim, clip, loot and loot again. By force of conceit, you will come to listen.
Girard Today my love appears bold to you, you blame my scheme. Listen, what is the mystery? I have, for more than a month, prowled, spun around, run about. And in my absence, alas, what has happened? My eyes are opening at last. Lucas is coming. I leave you. Until we meet again.
(Exit Girard.)