Fontanares What! Do you think that a man can pluck from his heart a love like mine, as easily as he draws the sword from his scabbard?
Faustine I can well conceive that a woman should love you and do you service. But, according to your idea, love is self-abdication. All that the greatest men have ever wished for: glory, honor, fortune, and more than that, a triumphant dominion which genius alone can establish —this you have gained, conquering a world as Caesar, Lucullus and Luther conquered before you! And yet, you have put between yourself and this splendid existence an obstacle, which is none other than a love worthy of some student of Alcala. By birth you are a giant, and of your own will you are dwindling into a dwarf. But a man of genius can always find, among women, one woman especially created for him. And such a woman, while in the eyes of men she is a queen, for him is but a servant, adapting herself with marvelous suppleness to the chances of life, cheerful in suffering and as far-sighted in misfortune as in prosperity; above all, indulgent to his caprices and knowing well the world and its perilous changes; in a word, capable of occupying a seat in his triumphal car after having helped it up the steepest grades—
Fontanares
You have drawn her portrait.
Faustine
Whose?
Fontanares
Marie's!
Faustine What! Did that child have skill to protect you? Did she divine the person and presence of her rival? And was she, who had suffered you to be overcome, worthy of possessing you for her own—she—the child who has permitted herself to be drawn, step by step, to the altar where at this moment she bestows herself upon another? If it had been I, ere this I should have lain dead at your feet! And on whom has she bestowed herself? On your deadliest enemy, who had accepted the command to secure the shipwreck of your hopes.
Fontanares How could I be false to that inextinguishable love, which has thrice come to my succor, which has eventually saved me, which, having no sacrifice but itself to offer on the altar of misfortune, accomplishes the immolation with one hand, and, with the other, offers to me in this (he shows the letter) the restoration of my honor, the esteem of my king, the admiration of the universe.
(Enter Paquita, who makes a sign to Faustine, then goes out.)
Faustine (aside) Ah! Sarpi has now his countess. (To Fontanares) Your life, your glory, your fortune, your honor, are at last in my hands alone! Marie no longer stands between us!
Fontanares
Us! Us!