Cha. I grieve I asked you. To the presence, then!
By this, D'Ormea acquaints the King, no doubt,
He fears I am too simple for mere hints,
And that no less will serve than Victor's mouth
Demonstrating in council what I am.
I have not breathed, I think, these many years!
Pol. Why, it may be!—if he desire to wed
That woman, call legitimate her child.
Cha. You see as much? Oh, let his will have way!
You'll not repent confiding in me, love?