LUC. Pray, sir, who has invented this nice story which has been spread about today? VAL. Pardon me, charming creature. My servant has been babbling; our marriage is discovered, without my consent. LUC. Our marriage? VAL. Everything is known, adorable Lucile; it is vain to dissemble. LUC. What! the ardour of my passion has made you my husband? VAL. It is a happiness which causes a great many heart-burnings. But I impute the successful result of my courtship less to your great passion for me than to your kindness of heart. I know you have cause to be offended, that it was the secret which you would fain have concealed. I myself have put a restraint on my ardour, so that I might not violate your express commands; but... MASC. Yes, it was I who told it. What great harm is done? LUC. Was there ever a falsehood like this? Dare you mention this in my very presence, and hope to obtain my hand by this fine contrivance? What a wretched lover you are--you, whose gallant passion would wound my honour, because it could not gain my heart; who wish to frighten my father by a foolish story, so that you might obtain my hand as a reward for having vilified me. Though everything were favourable to your love--my father, fate, and my own inclination--yet my well-founded resentment would struggle against my own inclination, fate, and my father, and even lose life rather than be united to one who thought to obtain my hand in this manner. Begone! If my sex could with decency be provoked to any outburst of rage, I would let you know what it was to treat me thus. VAL. (_To Mascarille_). It is all over with us; her anger cannot be appeased. MASC. Let me speak to her. Prithee, madam, what is the good of all these excuses? What are you thinking of? And what strange whim makes you thus oppose your own happiness? If your father were a harsh parent, the case would be different, but he listens to reason; and he himself has assured me that if you would but confess the truth, his affection would grant you everything. I believe you are a little ashamed frankly to acknowledge that you have yielded to love; but if you have lost a trifling amount of freedom, everything will be set to rights again by a good marriage. Your great love for Valère may be blamed a little, but the mischief is not so great as if you had murdered a man. We all know that flesh is frail, and that a maid is neither stock nor stone. You were not the first, that is certain; and you will not be the last, I dare say. LUC. What! can you listen to this shameless talk, and make no reply to these indignities? ALB. What would you have me say? This affair puts me quite beside myself. MASC. Upon my word, madam, you ought to have confessed all before now. LUC. What ought I to have confessed? MASC. What? Why, what has passed between my master and you. A fine joke, indeed! LUC. Why, what has passed between your master and me, impudent wretch?