LITMIR.BIZ

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For what, then?

      Phil. Know I am an astrologer. I am visited by a certain spirit that tells me everything, and hence I have learnt this: Mademoiselle Costanza has come not to visit those who stay, but those who go away.

      Cost. [Aside.] I suspect there is some truth in what the spirit says.

      Phil. What! are you puzzled how to answer?

      Cost. I will answer you frankly: if I have come to show civility to your guest, I do not perceive I deserve reproof.

      Phil. Reproof! on the contrary, praise; acts of civility ought not to be omitted – especially when dictated by a more tender feeling.

      Cost. You seem to be in a humour for jesting this morning.

      Phil. And you seem to be out of spirits; but I lay a wager I can cheer you up.

      Cost. Indeed?

      Phil. Without fail.

      Cost. And how?

      Phil. With two words.

      Cost. And what are those fine words?

      Phil. You shall hear them. Come this way – a little nearer. The Lieutenant is not going away. Does not your heart leap at this unexpected news?

      Cost. For mercy's sake! Monsieur Philibert, do you believe me in love?

      Phil. Say no, if you can.

      Cost. No; I can say it.

      Phil. Swear to it.

      Cost. Oh, I will not swear for such a trifle.

      Phil. You wish to hide the truth from me, as if I had not the power of serving you, or was unwilling to do so, and of serving the poor young man too, who is so unhappy.

      Cost. Unhappy, for what?

      Phil. On account of you.

      Cost. On account of me?

      Phil. Yes, you; we are in the dark, so that his love for you is in a manner hidden, and every one does not know that his despair sends him away.

      Cost. Despair for what?

      Phil. Because your father, from pride and avarice, will not consent to give you to him: this, my girl, is the whole affair.

      Cost. It appears that you know more of it than I do.

      Phil. You know, and do not choose to know. I make allowance for your modesty; but when a gentleman speaks to you, when a man of my character exerts himself in your behalf, you ought to lay aside modesty and open your heart freely.

      Cost. You take me so by surprise, I am embarrassed what answer to make.

      Phil. Let us end this conversation. Tell me, like an honest girl as you are, do you not love Monsieur de la Cotterie?

      Cost. You force me to own it.

      Phil. [Aside.] Thank Heaven! so my daughter spoke the truth. – And he loves you with an equal affection.

      Cost. Of that, sir, I know nothing.

      Phil. If you do not know it, I tell you so; he loves you to perdition.

      Cost. [Aside.] Can it be possible? and he has never declared it to me!

      Phil. And I have undertaken to persuade your father.

      Cost. But does my father know I am in love with the officer?

      Phil. He certainly ought to know.

      Cost. He has never mentioned it to me.

      Phil. Oh, your father will soon come and talk with you on the subject.

      Cost. He has never objected to my coming here, where I meet the officer.

      Phil. He knows that you are visiting in an honourable house; no greater liberty would be allowed you here than is proper for a modest young lady. In a word, are you willing that I should manage the affair?

      Cost. Entirely willing.

      Phil. Bravo! this is enough; and what would it avail you to deny with your lips what your looks proclaim? the flame that burns in your heart sparkles in your eyes.

      Cost. You have a most penetrating glance.

      Phil. Ah, here comes the officer.

      Cost. By your leave, sir.

      Phil. Where are you going?

      Cost. To Mademoiselle Giannina.

      Phil. Remain here, if you will.

      Cost. Oh no, sir, excuse me – your servant. – [Aside.] I am overjoyed! I know not in what world I am!

[Exit.Philibert, alone

      Phil. How amusing these girls are! Boldness and modesty are mingled in so strange a manner, that it is a pleasure to observe them. Here is an instance of love to devotion, and if it succeeds it will be owing to my daughter's intervention.

Enter De la Cotterie

      De la Cot. They told me, sir, that you asked for me.

      Phil. Have you seen Mademoiselle Giannina?

      De la Cot. No, sir, I have not seen her.

      Phil. I am sorry that you appear so melancholy.

      De la Cot. One whose health is bad cannot be expected to look cheerful.

      Phil. Do you not know I am a physician, and have the skill to cure you?

      De la Cot. I did not know that you were skilled in the medical art.

      Phil. Well, my friend, capacities often exist where they are not suspected.

      De la Cot. Why, then, have you not prescribed for me before now?

      Phil. Because I did not sooner know the nature of your disease.

      De la Cot. Do you think you know it now?

      Phil. Yes, certainly – indubitably.

      De la Cot. If you are learned in the medical art, sir, you know much better than I do how fallacious and how little to be relied on are all the symptoms that seem to indicate the causes of disease.

      Phil. The indications of your disease are so infallible, that I am confident there is no mistake, and on condition that you trust to my friendship, you shall soon have reason to be content.

      De la Cot. And by what process do you propose to cure me?

      Phil. My first prescription shall be for you to abandon all intention of going away, and to take the benefit of this air, which will speedily restore you to health.

      De la Cot. On the contrary, I fear this air is most injurious to me.

      Phil. Do you not know that even from hemlock a most salutary medicine is extracted?

      De la Cot. I am not ignorant of the late discoveries, but your allusion covers some mystery.

      Phil. No, my friend; so far as mystery is concerned, each of us is now acting his part; but let us speak without metaphor. Your disease arises from love, and you think to find a remedy by going away, whereas it is an act of mere desperation. You carry the arrow in your heart, and hope to be relieved; but the same hand which placed it there must draw it out.

      De la Cot. Your discourse, sir, is altogether new to me.

      Phil. Why pretend not to understand me! Speak to me as a friend who loves you, and takes the same interest in you as if you were his son. Consider: by dissembling you may destroy your happiness for ever. My attachment to you arises from a knowledge of your merit, and from your having spent several months with me; besides, I should be mortified for you to have contracted in my house an unhappy passion; and therefore

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