LITMIR.BIZ

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la Cot. Do you reckon among these the death of your father?

      Gian. Heaven grant that the day may be distant! but then I should be my own mistress.

      De la Cot. And do you wish me to remain in your house as long as he lives?

      Gian. No, Lieutenant; stay here as long as your convenience permits, but do not appear so anxious to go while there are good reasons for your remaining. Our hopes do not depend on the death of my father, but I have reasons to flatter myself our attachment in the end may be rewarded. Our love we must not relinquish, but avail ourselves of every advantage that occasion may offer.

      De la Cot. Adorable Giannina, how much am I indebted to your kindness! Dispose of me as you please; I am entirely yours; I will not go unless you order me to do so. Persuade your father to bear with my presence, and be certain that no place on earth is so agreeable to me as this.

      Gian. I have only one request to make.

      De la Cot. May you not command?

      Gian. Have regard for one defect which is common to lovers; – do not, I entreat you, give me any cause for jealousy.

      De la Cot. Am I capable of doing so?

      Gian. I will tell you. Mademoiselle Costanza, in the last few days, has visited our house more frequently than usual; her eyes look tenderly on you, and she manifests rather too much sympathy for your misfortunes. You are of a gentle disposition, and, to own the truth, I sometimes feel uneasy.

      De la Cot. Henceforth I will use the greatest caution, that she may indulge no hopes, and that you may be at ease.

      Gian. But so conduct yourself, that neither my jealousy nor your love for me shall be remarked.

      De la Cot. Ah, would to Heaven, Mademoiselle, our troubles were at an end!

      Gian. We must bear them, to deserve good fortune.

      De la Cot. Yes, dearest, I bear all with this delightful hope. Permit me now to inquire for my servant, to get him to countermand the horses.

      Gian. Were they ordered?

      De la Cot. Yes, indeed.

      Gian. Unkind one!

      De la Cot. Pardon me.

      Gian. Let the order be countermanded before my father knows it.

      De la Cot. My hope and my comfort! may Heaven be propitious to our wishes, and reward true love and virtuous constancy.

[Exit.

      Gian. I never could have believed it possible for me to be brought to such a step; that I should, of my own accord, use language and contrive means to detain him. But unless I had done so, in a moment he would have been gone, and I should have died immediately afterwards. But here comes my father; I am sorry he finds me in our visitor's room. Thank Heaven, the Lieutenant is gone out! All appearance of sorrow must vanish from my face.

Enter Philibert

      Phil. My daughter, what are you doing in this room?

      Gian. Curiosity, sir, brought me here.

      Phil. And what excites your curiosity?

      Gian. To see a master who understands nothing of such things, and an awkward servant endeavouring to pack up a trunk.

      Phil. Do you know when he goes away?

      Gian. He intended going this morning, but, in walking across the room, his legs trembled so, that I fear he will not stand the journey.

      Phil. I think his present disease has deeper roots than his wound.

      Gian. Yet only one hurt has been discovered by the surgeons.

      Phil. Oh, there are wounds which they know nothing of.

      Gian. Every wound, however slight, makes its mark.

      Phil. Eh! there are weapons that give an inward wound.

      Gian. Without breaking the skin?

      Phil. Certainly.

      Gian. How do these wounds enter?

      Phil. By the eyes, the ears, the touch.

      Gian. You must mean by the percussion of the air.

      Phil. Air! no, I mean flame.

      Gian. Indeed, sir, I do not comprehend you.

      Phil. You do not choose to comprehend me.

      Gian. Do you think I have any mischievous design in my head?

      Phil. No; I think you a good girl, wise, prudent, who knows what the officer suffers from, and who, from a sense of propriety, appears not to know it.

      Gian. [Aside.] Poor me! his manner of talking alarms me.

      Phil. Giannina, you seem to me to blush.

      Gian. What you say, sir, of necessity makes me blush. I now begin to understand something of the mysterious wound of which you speak; but, be it as it may, I know neither his disease nor the remedy.

      Phil. My daughter, let us speak plainly. Monsieur de la Cotterie was perfectly cured a month after he arrived here; he was apparently in health, ate heartily, and began to recover his strength; he had a good complexion, and was the delight of our table and our circle. By degrees he grew sad, lost his appetite, became thin, and his gaiety was changed to sighs. I am something of a philosopher, and suspect his disease is more of the mind than of the body, and, to speak still more plainly, I believe he is in love.

      Gian. It may be as you say; but I think, were he in love, he would not be leaving.

      Phil. Here again my philosophy explains everything. Suppose, by chance, the young lady of whom he is enamoured were rich, dependent on her father, and could not encourage his hopes; would it be strange if despair counselled him to leave her?

      Gian. [Aside.] He seems to know all.

      Phil. And this tremor of the limbs, occurring just as he is to set out, must, I should say, viewed philosophically, arise from the conflict of two opposing passions.

      Gian. [Aside.] I could imprecate his philosophy!

      Phil. In short, the benevolence of my character, hospitality, to which my heart is much inclined, humanity itself, which causes me to desire the good of my neighbours, all cause me to interest myself in him; but I would not wish my daughter to have any share in this disease.

      Gian. Ah, you make me laugh! Do I look thin and pale? am I melancholy? What says your philosophy to the external signs of my countenance and of my cheerfulness.

      Phil. I am suspended between two opinions: you have either the power of self-control, or are practising deception.

      Gian. Have you ever found me capable of deception?

      Phil. Never, and for that reason I cannot believe it now.

      Gian. You have determined in your own mind that the officer is in love, which is very likely; but I am not the only person he may be suspected of loving.

      Phil. As the Lieutenant leaves our house so seldom, it is fair to infer his disease had its origin here.

      Gian. There are many handsome young ladies who visit us, and one of them may be his choice.

      Phil. Very true; and, as you are with them, and do not want wit and observation, you ought to know exactly how it is, and to relieve me from all suspicion.

      Gian. But if I have promised not to speak of it?

      Phil. A father should be excepted from such a promise.

      Gian. Yes, certainly, especially if silence can cause him any pain.

      Phil. Come, then, my good girl, let us hear. – [Aside.] I am sorry I suspected her.

      Gian.

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