"How,—pretty butterfly?"
"Why, for instance, there is not a more constant man alive than the
Marshal."
"There is not indeed!—and I am wrong, very wrong to have listened to you so long. I reproached myself enough, but he has unfortunately discovered our flirtation."
"Since the last rout at Court, fair Widow—-"
"Were you so unguarded and particular—pretty butterfly!"
"Let us repair the mischief. Let us part. I honor the Marshal, and, for my part, do not like to give him pain."
The Widow looked at him for some time in speechless amazement.
"If you have indeed any regard for me," continued Philip, "you will go with the Marshal to Poland, to visit your relations. 'Tis better that we should not meet so often. A beautiful woman is beautiful—but a pure and virtuous woman is more beautiful still."
"Prince!" cried the astonished Widow, "are you really in earnest? Have you ever loved me, or have you all along deceived?"
"Look you," answered Philip, "I am a tempter of a peculiar kind. I search constantly among women to find truth and virtue, and 'tis but seldom that I encounter them. Only the true and virtuous can keep me constant—therefore I am true to none; but no!—I will not lie—there is one that keeps me in her chains—I am sorry, fair Widow, that that one—is not you!"