_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._ [_Aside._] I find myself obliged to deceive him.--Do you know, sir, that poor Monsieur de la Cotterie loves to madness Mademoiselle Costanza?
_Phil._ What! the daughter of Monsieur Riccardo?
_Phil._ And does the girl return his affection?
_Gian._ With the greatest possible ardour.
_Phil._ And what obstacle prevents the accomplishment of their wishes?
_Gian._ Why, the father of the girl will hardly consent to give her to an officer who is not in a condition to maintain her reputably.
_Phil._ A curious obstacle, truly. And who is this Monsieur Riccardo, that he has such rigorous maxims? He is nothing but a broker, sprung from the mud, grown rich amid the execrations of the people. Does he think to rank himself among the merchants of Holland? A marriage with an officer would be an honour to his daughter, and he could not better dispose of his ill-got wealth.