"
"Alas, Melchior, Modeste must needs have so noble, so grand, so
well-balanced a nature to resist the glories of the Court, and all
these splendors cleverly displayed for her honor and glory by the duke,
that I cannot believe in the existence of such perfection,--and yet,
if she is still the Modeste of her letters, there might be hope!"
"Well, well, you are a happy fellow, you young Boniface, to see the
world and your mistress through green spectacles!" cried Canalis,
marching off to pace up and down the garden.
Caught between two lies, the poet was at a loss what to do.
"Play by rule, and you lose!" he cried presently, sitting down in the
kiosk. "Every man of sense would have acted as I did four days ago,
and got himself out of the net in which I saw myself. At such times
people don't disentangle nets, they break through them! Come, let us
be calm, cold, dignified, affronted. Honor requires it; English
stiffness is the only way to win her back. After all, if I have to
retire finally, I can always fall back on my old happiness; a fidelity
of ten years can't go unrewarded. Eleonore will arrange me some good
marriage.
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