I must embrace you, faithless, dear fugitive! Share my joy with me! Why do you tear yourself from my caresses!
MELLEFONT.
I expected, Marwood, that you would receive me differently.
MARWOOD.
Why differently? With more love, perhaps? With more delight? Alas, how unhappy I am, that I cannot express all that I feel! Do you not see, Mellefont, do you not see that joy, too, has its tears? Here they fall, the offspring of sweetest delight! But alas, vain tears! His hand does not dry you!
MELLEFONT.
Marwood, the time is gone, when such words would have charmed me. You must speak now with me in another tone. I come to hear your last reproaches and to answer them.
MARWOOD.
Reproaches? What reproaches should I have for you, Mellefont? None!