I had her, just about, and she was surrounded and had no way out. I found the letter, I had proof, now I wanted her aloof explanation. She tried to make an excuse and lie when she said, “this was written to a woman friend.” I knew I would get the truth from her this time. But then, as if she’d done no crime, she admitted to it, and remarked,
“No, no, it’s for Oronte; you’re perfectly right.
I welcome his attentions with delight,
I prize his character and his intellect,
And everything is just as you suspect…”
At first, I was the judge and the questioner, but then so quickly she turned the situation, and I asked her,
Could anything be more inhuman?
Was ever a heart so mangled by a woman?
And then I said to her dear face…
She tries my tortued patience to the limit;
She won’t deny her guilt; she glories in it!
And yet my heart’s too faint and cowardly,
To break these chains of passions and be free,
At that moment I found myself begging…
…Pretend, pretend that you are just and true,
And I shall make myself believe in you.
Oh, Celimene, why do I love you so? Why do you have to be so wonderfully aglow? Your flaws are great, but not heavy enough to negate my love for you.