Gerardo. Oh, don't promise me anything, my child. What good could your promise do me? The burden of it would all fall upon you. You see, I am talking to you as lovingly as the most loving father could. Be thankful to God that with your recklessness you haven't fallen into the hands of another artist. [He presses her hand again.] Let this be a lesson to you and never try it again.
Miss Cœurne [holding her handkerchief to her face but shedding no tears]. Am I so homely?
Gerardo. Homely! Not homely, but young and indiscreet. [He rises nervously, goes to the right, comes back, puts his arm around her waist and takes her hand.] Listen to me, child. You are not homely because I have to be a singer, because I have to be an artist. Don't misunderstand me, but I can't see why I should simply, because I am an artist, have to assure you that I appreciate your youthful freshness and beauty. It is a question of time. Two hundred, maybe three hundred, nice, lovely girls of your age saw me last night in the rôle of Tannhäuser. Now if every one of those girls made the same demands upon me which you are making—what would become of my singing? What would become of my voice? What would become of my art?
[Miss Cœurne sinks into a seat, covers her face and weeps.]
Gerardo [leaning over the back of her chair, in a friendly tone]. It is a crime for you, child, to weep over the fact that you are still so young. Your whole life is ahead of you. Is it my fault if you fell in love with me? They all do. That is what I am for. Now won't you be a good girl and let me, for the few minutes I have left, prepare myself for to-morrow's appearance?
Miss Cœurne [rising and drying her tears]. I can't believe that any other girl would have acted the way I have.
Gerardo [leading her to the door]. No, dear child.
Miss Cœurne [with sobs in her voice]. At least, not if—
Gerardo. If my valet had stood before the door.
Miss Cœurne. If—