I shall soon learn to set some store by her bloodthirsty jealousy, her impetuous insolence, her treacherous cunning! But Sara! You wish again to evade my question and not to reveal to me----
SARA.
I will; and what I said was indeed a step towards it. That Mellefont loves me, then, is undeniably certain. If only I had not discovered that his love lacked a certain confidence, which would be as flattering to me as his love itself. In short, dearest Mellefont--Why does a sudden anxiety make it so difficult for me to speak?--Well, I suppose I shall have to tell it without seeking for the most prudent form in which to say it. Marwood mentioned a pledge of love; and the talkative Norton--forgive him, pray--told me a name--a name, Mellefont, which must rouse in you another tenderness than that which you feel for me.
MELLEFONT.
Is it possible? Has the shameless woman confessed her own disgrace? Alas, Sara, have pity on my confusion! Since you already know all, why do you wish to hear it again from my lips? She shall never come into your sight,--the unhappy child, who has no other fault than that of having such a mother.
SARA.
You love her, then, in spite of all?
MELLEFONT.
Too much, Sara, too much for me to deny it.