VINTIMILLE [laughing]. You always liked to exaggerate.
LA CONTAT. I am not joking now.
VINTIMILLE. But, Contat, you are a woman of sense; you don't do things without a reason?
LA CONTAT. I have a reason, but I can't explain it now. A few moments ago it was so powerful, so clear to me. The feelings of those people thrill me, like the roll of thunder. Now that I am separated from them, I don't know, I don't know what—
VINTIMILLE. You were mad. Confess it.
LA CONTAT. No, no: I am sure they are right.
VINTIMILLE. Right to rebel against the King, kill people, and die for a nothing?
LA CONTAT. They are not dying for nothing.
VINTIMILLE. No, of course not: for Monsieur d'Orléans' écus!
LA CONTAT. My dear, you're the same as ever: you always minimize one's motives.