SER. My master says he will be here directly.
DOR. Very well.
SCENE XVIII.—DORIMÈNE, DORANTE.
DORI. I am afraid, Dorante, that I am doing a very strange thing in allowing myself to be brought by you into a house where I know nobody.
DOR. Where then can I go to entertain you, Madam, since, to avoid remarks being made, you will see me neither at your own house nor at mine?
DORI. Yes; but you do not mention that I am little by little brought to accept too great proofs of your love. In vain do I refuse my acquiescence in all you do, you triumph over my resistance, and you have a kind of persevering civility which causes me by degrees to do all that you wish. You began with frequent visits; next came declarations, and they have drawn after them serenades and entertainments, followed by presents. I was opposed to all these things, but you are not to be discouraged, and step by step you have overcome all my resolutions. For my part, I dare answer for nothing now; and I believe that at last you will persuade me to marry you, although I had set my heart against it.
DOR. Indeed, Madam, you should have been persuaded before. You are a widow, and depend on nobody but yourself. I am my own master, and I love you more than my life. What is there to prevent you from making me supremely happy?
DORI. To say the truth, Dorante, it requires many good qualities on both sides for people to live happily together, and the two most sensible people in the world will often find it difficult to make up a union with which they are satisfied.
DOR. You are wrong, Madam, to fear so many drawbacks to the happiness of a married life, and your sad experience proves nothing.
DORI. In short, I still come back to this; the expenses which you run into for my sake make me anxious for two reasons: the first that they involve me more than I should wish, and the other that I feel certain—pray be not offended with me—that you cannot incur them without much inconvenience to yourself; and I do not wish such a state of things to go on.