Chimène. Alone?
Page. Alone, and they seemed in low tones to be wrangling with each other.
Chimène. Without doubt they are fighting; there is no further need of speaking. Madame, forgive my haste [in thus departing]. [Exeunt Chimène and Page.]
Scene V.—The Infanta and Leonora.
Infanta. Alas! what uneasiness I feel in my mind! I weep for her sorrows, [yet still] her lover enthralls me; my calmness forsakes me, and my passion revives. That which is going to separate Rodrigo from Chimène rekindles at once my hope and my pain; and their separation, which I see with regret, infuses a secret pleasure in mine enamored soul.
Leonora. This noble pride which reigns in your soul, does it so soon surrender to this unworthy passion?
Infanta. Call it not unworthy, since, seated in my heart, proud and triumphant, it asserts its sway [lit. law] over me. Treat it with respect, since it is so dear to me. My pride struggles against it, but, in spite of myself—I hope; and my heart, imperfectly shielded against such a vain expectation, flies after a lover whom Chimène has lost.
Leonora. Do you thus let this noble resolution give way [lit. fall]? And does reason in your mind thus lose its influence?
Infanta. Ah! with how little effect do we listen to reason when the heart is assailed by a poison so delicious, and when the sick man loves his malady! We can hardly endure that any remedy should be applied to it.
Leonora. Your hope beguiles you, your malady is pleasant to you; but, in fact, this Rodrigo is unworthy of you.