You know, dear mother, how willingly I ever submit to your superior judgment. But should he learn from another that the Prince spoke to me to-day, would not my silence sooner or later increase his uneasiness?--I think it would be better not to conceal anything from him.
CLAUDIA.
Weakness--a fond weakness. No, on no account, my daughter! Tell him nothing. Let him observe nothing.
EMILIA.
I submit. I have no will, dear mother, opposed to yours. Ah! (sighing deeply), I shall soon be well again. What a silly, timid thing I am! am I not, mother? I might have conducted myself otherwise, and should, perhaps, have compromised myself just a little.
CLAUDIA.
I would not say this, my daughter, till your own good sense had spoken, which I was sure would be as soon as your alarm was at an end. The Prince is a gallant. You are too little used to the unmeaning language of gallantry. In your mind a civility becomes an emotion--a compliment, a declaration--an idea, a wish--a wish, a design. A mere nothing, in this language, sounds like everything, while everything is in reality nothing.
EMILIA.
Dear mother, my terror cannot but appear ridiculous to myself now. But my kind Appiani shall know nothing of it. He might, perhaps, think me more vain than virtuous----Ah! there he comes himself. That is his step.