ISABELLE: It's from that that I see they have scorned me. For only in embracing did they refuse me. The Prude scorned me with her haughty airs, took a soft tone mixed with disdain, affected caresses and vapid joking. You die in flattery. "My tenderness for you," she told me very loudly, "makes me not want you to marry so soon. That is to say to give to a nephew who presses me some wealth to satisfy a mad passion; no I would become your accomplice in authorizing it." And a hundred like remarks, in a somewhat pleasant tone, made against marriage. "Be like us, a forfeiture makes you wise. Imitate our strength of character. One refusal will keep you at least from any forfeiture." VALERE: What stupid remarks. Always the same rubric. But nothing comes from their gothic spirit. Without worldliness, visiting no one except her sister who is less hard than she is, but crazier from misfortune. ISABELLE: I am a little less furious with Araminte. For a few moments I thought I'd won her over. But her character is subject to change. Agitating itself with several passions at the same time, in her burning and turbulent vivacity. Here's what was told me by this aunt. "I rave from time to time but I have some sentiments. I love love but I hate lovers. Abhor them, too. I intend it, I order it. Without cease I promise but I never give, I hate my nephew a lot but I love you a great deal." From this balderdash I still conclude that she will do more for you than her sister.-- My father's coming. VALERE: I am going to learn my fate. ISABELLE: I tremble. Oh, I see him overwhelmed with chagrin. VALERE: His approach seizes me. My misfortune is certain. (Enter Geronte) GERONTE: You perceive by observing my sadness that I have received only a refusal. My goodness, my fondness spoke loudly for you on this occasion. Take your leave daughter. ISABELLE: Must we part? GERONTE: Yes, daughter. VALERE: What can I think? ISABELLE: Oh. What blow to Valere. GERONTE: Your aunts have made this separation imperative. VALERE: What, charming Isabelle, I mustn't see you any more? What, sir, do you wish to put me in despair? You are going to tear me from Isabelle! GERONTE: Yes, Valere. VALERE: Ah, at least beg your father to stay in Paris several more days. ISABELLE: No, Valere. VALERE: Oh, sir. GERONTE: Useless words. VALERE: Oh, if it is your wish, adorable Isabelle. GERONTE: I don't wish it, but through care of her. She wishes that which it is her duty to wish. To return to the country immediately without seeing you any further. VALERE: And you consent to this? ISABELLE: It's better so, Valere. I gave you my heart by order of my father. I obeyed him. He now intends, wisely, that I separate from you. It must be admitted frankly that I am not sure of a like obedience. But I am going. VALERE: What, sir, deny me all hope?