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C L I T I E.
I believe it so little, that I have come to ask you for dinner.
F E D E R I C.
For dinner! Me! Heavens!
C L I T I E.
Well?
F E D E R I C.
Ah, without a doubt, Madame... Yes, yes, I am going...
C L I T I E.
It seems that my proposal frightens you.
F E D E R I C.
Does pleasure on my face look like fright? Never, never have I felt a more lively pleasure.
C L I T I E.
Allow me, Frédéric, to set a condition: I must leave early. Alas! my son is dying.
F E D E R I C.
He is dying?
C L I T I E.
Yes, so have something served as soon as possible; very little; nothing, some fruit, some dairy.
F E D E R I C.
Permit me to go, to see, to find out. O heaven! can I leave you? I am going to lose a few minutes of the most beautiful hour of my life. Guillaume!
G U I L L A U M E.
My Lord.
F E D E R I C.
Run to the garden, go gather some fruit.
G U I L L A U M E.
They are not ripe original: "meurs" - old spelling for mûrs.
F E D E R I C.
Gather them all, they will become so.
G U I L L A U M E, looking at Eleonore.
All! How pretty she is!
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