ERAS. How so?
MAR. I have walked ten miles to look for you, and give you my word that…
ERAS. What?
MAR. That you were neither at church, in the fashionable walk, at home, nor in the market-place.
GR.-RE. You may swear to that.
ERAS. But pray, tell me who sent you?
MAR. One, in good truth, who bears you no great ill-will; in a word, my mistress.
ERAS. Ah! dear Marinette, do your words really express what she feels? Do not hide some ominous secret from me. I should not dislike you for this. For Heaven's sake tell me if your charming mistress does not merely pretend to love me?
MAR. Ha! ha! ha! What has put that funny notion into your head? Does she not sufficiently show her inclination? What further security does your love demand? What does it require?
GR.-RE. Unless Valère hangs himself, or some such trifle, he will not be reassured.