BELISE: But Senechal--
FRONTIN: Although Senechal, I often wear livery.
BELISE: Have you gone mad?
ARAMINTE: Drunk on pleasures, my sister sees in you her lover, the
Senechal, dear Chevalier.
BELISE: Sister we are misunderstanding each other. He's the Senechal
Groux.
ARAMINTE: But I think you are dreaming. He's my Chevalier Cique.
FRONTIN: Yes, from complacency to please the younger, I am playful,
lively and to please the elder, stern. But unable to be two except in
appearance I must admit that Frontin is neither Cique nor Groux.
BELISE: What?
ARAMINTE: How's that?
VALERE: It's Frontin himself.
BELISE: Where are we?
VALERE: A scoundrel of a valet to pretend to be such a person.
ARAMINTE: A valet?
BELISE: A valet.
GERONTE: The wisest thing would be to ask us about this matter in
private.
ISABELLE: Pardon the nephew for the valet's sake.
BELISE: Oh, sister.
ARAMINTE: Oh, sis, let's hide our shame from them.
(Exit Araminte and Belise)
VALERE: The fear they have of making the subject of a fine story
perhaps may make them less unjust to me.
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