I have done wrong, dearest Sara, to leave you in uneasiness about the letter which came just now.
SARA.
Oh dear, no, Mellefont! I have not been in the least uneasy about it. Could you not love me even though you still had secrets from me?
MELLEFONT.
You think, then, that it was a secret?
SARA.
But not one which concerns me. And that must suffice for me.
MELLEFONT.
You are only too good. Let me nevertheless reveal my secret to you. The letter contained a few lines from a relative of mine, who has heard of my being here. She passes through here on her way to London, and would like to see me. She has begged at the same time to be allowed the honour of paying you a visit.