CLÉONTE: Ah! Ah! She sees what she's done.
NICOLE: Our greeting this morning has annoyed you.
COVIELLE: She has guessed the problem.
LUCILE: Isn't it true, Cléonte, that this is the cause of your resentment?
CLÉONTE: Yes, perfidious one, it is, since I must speak; and I must tell that you shall not triumph in your faithlessness as you think, I want to be the first to break with you, and you won't have the advantage of driving me away. I will have difficulty in conquering the love I have for you; it will cause me pain; I will suffer for a while. But I'll come through it, and I would rather stab myself through the heart than have the weakness to return to you.
COVIELLE: Me too.
LUCILE: What an uproar over nothing. I want to tell you, Cléonte, what made me avoid joining you this morning.
CLÉONTE: No, I don't want to listen to anything . . .
NICOLE: I want to tell you what made us pass so quickly.
COVIELLE: I don't want to hear anything.