Late the following evening. MME DE TOURVEL lingers alone in the salon in the château. The card table is out, still scattered with cards. MME DE TOURVEL, drifting somewhat aimlessly, glancing at the door from time to time, seems to have no particular reason for being in the room. She starts however and moves briskly to the table to begin tidying away the cards as soon as VALMONT, looking elegant but frail, appears in the doorway.
VALMONT: You’re alone, Madame.
(He advances into the room as MME DE TOURVEL answers shakily.)
TOURVEL: The others have all decided on an early night. Mademoiselle de Volanges in particular seems to be quite exhausted.
VALMONT: I must admit to being rather tired myself.
(He arrives at the card table.)
May I help you with these?
(He reaches for some cards, brushing her hand in the process, causing her to let go of the cards she’s already collected.)
TOURVEL: No, I’m sure the servants will …
(She moves away from the table in some confusion, heading in the general direction of the chaise-longue. VALMONT watches her.)
VALMONT: I’m glad to have found you, I very much missed our walk today.
TOURVEL: Yes …
VALMONT: I fear with the weather as it is, we can look forward to very few more of them.
TOURVEL: This heavy rain is surely exceptional.
VALMONT: But in a week I shall have concluded my business.
TOURVEL: I see.
(She stops, affected by this news. VALMONT begins, very gradually, to move closer.)
VALMONT: I may, however, be unable to bring myself to leave.
(MME DE TOURVEL turns to face him, beset by conflicting emotions.)
TOURVEL: Oh, please. You must!
VALMONT: Are you still so anxious to get rid of me?
TOURVEL: You know the answer to that. I must rely on your integrity and generosity. I want to be able to be grateful to you.
VALMONT: Forgive me if I say I don’t want your gratitude. Gratitude I can get from strangers; what I want from you is something altogether deeper.
TOURVEL: I know God is punishing me for my pride. I was so certain nothing like this could ever happen to me.
VALMONT: Nothing like what?
TOURVEL: I can’t …
VALMONT: Do you mean love? Is love what you mean?
(He’s beside her now and takes her hand. She starts, but does not remove her hand.)
TOURVEL: Don’t ask me, you promised not to speak of it.
VALMONT: But I must know. I need this consolation at least.
(Silence. MME DE TOURVEL still holds VALMONT’s hand, but cannot bring herself to look at him. VALMONT, meanwhile, darts a quick glance at the chaise-longue.)
TOURVEL: I can’t … don’t you see? … it’s impossible …
VALMONT: Of course I understand, I don’t want you to say anything, but I must know, I must know if you love me, don’t speak, you don’t have to speak, I just want you to look at me. Just look. That’s all I ask.
(Long silence. Then, slowly, MME DE TOURVEL raises her eyes to his.)
TOURVEL: Yes.
(They’re motionless for a moment. Then VALMONT releases her hand and raises his arms to embrace her. As he does so, her eyes suddenly go dead and she collapses sideways, obliging him to catch her. She sways in his arms for a moment, then comes to and jerks violently away from him. Then she bursts into tears. She stands for a moment, sobbing wildly, then rushes at VALMONT, falls to her knees and throws her arms round his legs.)
For God’s sake, you must leave me, if you don’t want to kill me, you must help, it’s killing me!
(VALMONT, somewhat taken aback at first by her intensity, collects himself and lifts her to her feet. For a moment they sway together in an ungainly embrace; then MME DE TOURVEL’s sobs cease abruptly and give way to chattering teeth and almost epileptic convulsions. Startled, VALMONT gathers her up in his arms and carries her over to the chaise-longue where he deposits her gently. The convulsions continue, her teeth are clenched now, the blood drained from her face. He leans forward to loosen her bodice as she stares helplessly up at him. He pauses for a moment, looking down at her, as her features return to normal. They look at each other. Something passes between them; and this time it’s VALMONT who looks away, something almost like shame darkening his expression. MME DE TOURVEL begins to go into shock again; and VALMONT breaks away and runs over to the door, shouting.)
VALMONT: Adèle!
(He leaves the room; and a moment later, his voice is heard.)
(Off) Fetch Madame. Madame de Tourvel has been taken ill.
(He hurries back into the room and over to the chaise-longue. As he arrives there, MME DE TOURVEL reaches a hand up towards him. He takes it between both of his. He looks perplexed. He stands in silence, thoughtful, massaging her hand in his. Presently, MME DE ROSEMONDE appears, shepherded by her MAID. She clucks anxiously and hurries over towards the chaise-longue. VALMONT releases MME DE TOURVEL’s hand.)
She seemed to be having difficulty breathing.
ROSEMONDE: Oh, my dear, whatever is it?
(MME DE TOURVEL stirs, managing a faint smile.)
TOURVEL: It’s all right, I’m all right now.
VALMONT: I shall leave her in your capable hands, Aunt. Send Adèle for me if I can be of any further assistance.
(And, still looking strangely abashed, he leaves the room.)
ROSEMONDE: We must send for a doctor, my dear.
(MME DE TOURVEL is roused from her rapt contemplation of VALMONT’s departure.)
TOURVEL: No, no please, I don’t need a doctor, I’m perfectly all right now.
ROSEMONDE: We mustn’t take any chances.
TOURVEL: No, I just … I must talk to you for a moment.
(MME DE ROSEMONDE frowns, but without surprise. She turns to gesture at the MAID. The MAID curtsies and leaves. MME DE TOURVEL motions MME DE ROSEMONDE to approach.)
TOURVEL: Come and sit by me. I can’t speak very loud. What I have to say is too difficult.
(MME DE ROSEMONDE perches on the edge of the chaise-longue looking down at her. MME DE TOURVEL takes her hands.)
I have to leave this house first thing in the morning. I’m most desperately in love.
(MME DE ROSEMONDE, still unsurprised, bows her head.)
To leave here is the last thing in the world I want to do: but I’d rather die than have to live with the guilt. I don’t mind if I die: to live without him is going to be no life at all. But that’s what I have to do. Can you understand what I’m saying?
ROSEMONDE: Of course. My dear girl. None of this is any surprise to me. The only thing which might surprise one is how little the world changes. Of course you must leave if you feel it’s the right thing to do.
TOURVEL: And what should I do then? What’s your advice?
ROSEMONDE: If I remember rightly, in such matters all advice is useless. You can’t speak to the patient in the grip of a fever. We must talk again when you’re closer to recovery.
TOURVEL: I’ve never been so unhappy.
ROSEMONDE: I’m sorry to say this: but those who are most worthy of love are never made happy by it. You’re too young to have understood that.
TOURVEL: But why, why should that be?
ROSEMONDE: Do you still think men love the way we do? No. Men enjoy the happiness they feel; we can only enjoy the happiness we give. They’re not capable of devoting themselves exclusively to one person. So to hope to be made happy by love is a certain cause of grief. I’m devoted to my nephew, but what is true of most men is doubly so of him.
TOURVEL: And yet … he could have … just now. He took pity on me, I saw it happen, I saw his decision not to take advantage of me.
ROSEMONDE: If he has released you, my dear child, it’s because your example over these last few weeks has genuinely affected and improved him. If he’s let you go, you must go.
TOURVEL: I will. I will.
(She starts crying again and twists round, letting her head drop into MME DE ROSEMONDE’s lap. MME DE ROSEMONDE sits, looking down, stroking MME DE TOURVEL’s hair.)
ROSEMONDE: There. And even if you had given way, my dear girl, God knows how hard you’ve struggled against it. There now.
(She strokes her hair, as the lights fade to black.)