Meaningless! You call it meaningless, do you? everything has a meaning in love. I tell you I would rather have you beat me than laugh as you do. I. Then you would like to see me weep? ROSETTE. You always go from one extreme to the other. No one asks you to weep, but to talk reasonably and drop that tone of persiflage that becomes you so ill. I. It is impossible for me to talk reasonably and not joke; I'll beat you, if that's what you want! ROSETTE. Do it. I (_giving her a little tap or two on the shoulder)._ I would rather cut off my own head than mar your adorable little body and make blue stripes on that lovely white back.--However much a woman may enjoy being beaten, my goddess, I swear that you shan't be. ROSETTE. You don't love me any more. I. That doesn't follow very logically from what precedes; it's almost as logical as to say: "It rains, so don't give me my umbrella;" or: "It's cold, open the window." ROSETTE. You don't love me, you have never loved me. I. Aha! the plot thickens; you don't love me any more and you have never loved me. That is rather contradictory; how can I cease to do a thing which I never began to do?--You see, my little queen, you don't know what you are saying and you are perfectly ridiculous. ROSETTE. I longed so to have you love me that I helped to deceive myself. It is easy to believe what one desires; but now I see that I am mistaken. You made a mistake yourself; you mistook liking for love and desire for passion. It's something that happens every day. I bear you no ill will for it: it wasn't your fault that you weren't in love with me; my own lack of charm is all that I have to blame. I ought to have been prettier, more playful, more of a flirt; I ought to have tried to rise to your level, O my poet! instead of trying to pull you down to mine: I was afraid of losing you among the clouds, and I dreaded lest your head should steal your heart from me. I imprisoned you in my love and I thought that, if I gave myself to you utterly, you would keep a little something of me-- I. Move away a little, Rosette; your leg burns me--you're like a hot coal. ROSETTE. If I annoy you, I'll get up.--Ah! stony heart, drops of water pierce the stone, but my tears have no effect on you. (_She weeps_). I. If you weep like that, you will certainly make a bathtub of our bed.--A bathtub, did I say? an ocean.--Can you swim, Rosette? ROSETTE. Villain! I.