Raph. He offered you his hand? (A pause.) Speak, Marco, speak: in mercy let me know the worst.
Marco. He did.
Raph. And you accepted?
Marco. (Coldly.) Yes.
Raph. (Greatly agitated.) O Marco, Marco! (Violently, rising.) You shall not marry him!
Marco. (With contempt.) Who shall prevent me?
Raph. (With a burst of fury.) The man you have wronged! (Suddenly losing all command over himself, and throwing himself at her feet in an agony of grief.) No, no! Pity, pity for the wretched maniac who cannot live without you—humanity—remorse—
Marco. (Taking away her hand, and rising, with contempt and rage.) Remorse! I am weary of this persecution, these clamors, these maledictions. You think me a monster of falsehood, inconstant as the wind, perfidious as the ocean, the incarnation of caprice, selfishness, and cruelty? And why? Because I am too wise to rush headlong to ruin, and too proud to be pitied.
Raph. Pitied, Marco!