Six o’ clock in the evening, a couple of days later. The salon in Mme de Tourvel’s house, furnished in sombre good taste. MME DE TOURVEL sits in an armchair, staring blankly at a piece of embroidery. On the other side of the room is an ottoman. Presently, VALMONT is shown in by a FOOTMAN; as they appear, MME DE TOURVEL makes an effort to stand, but is obliged to sit down again almost immediately. She’s trembling. The FOOTMAN waits for a moment and is surprised to be dismissed impatiently with a gesture from MME DE TOURVEL. VALMONT, meanwhile, has bowed deep and now crosses the room to hand MME DE TOURVEL a packet of letters, which she takes from him apprehensively. As she inspects them, VALMONT, still silent, looks round the room. His eye falls briefly on the ottoman, rests there for a moment and then returns to MME DE TOURVEL, who is now looking up at him expectantly.
VALMONT: I understand Father Anselme has explained to you the reasons for my visit.
TOURVEL: Yes. He said you wished to be reconciled with me before beginning instruction with him.
VALMONT: That’s right.
TOURVEL: But I see no need for formal reconciliation, Monsieur.
VALMONT: No? When I have, as you said, insulted you; and when you have treated me with unqualified contempt.
TOURVEL: Contempt? What do you mean?
VALMONT: You run away from my aunt’s house in the middle of the night; you refuse to answer or even receive my letters: and all this after I had shown a restraint of which I think we are both aware. I would call that, at the very least, contempt.
TOURVEL: I’m sure you understand me better than you pretend, Monsieur; it seemed to me by far the most …
VALMONT: Forgive me, I didn’t come here to trade reproaches. You know your virtue has made as deep an impression on my soul as has your beauty on my heart. I suppose I imagined that made me worthy of you. What has happened is probably a just punishment for my presumption.
(Silence.)
My life has had no value since you refused to make it beautiful: all I wanted from this meeting, Madame, was your forgiveness for the wrongs you think I’ve done you, so I can at least end my days in some peace of mind.
TOURVEL: But you won’t understand, I couldn’t do what you wanted, my duty wouldn’t allow me to …
(Her voice tails off. VALMONT moves a little closer and begins again.)
VALMONT: It was me you ran away from, wasn’t it?
TOURVEL: I had to leave.
VALMONT: And do you have to keep away from me?
TOURVEL: I do.
VALMONT: For ever?
TOURVEL: I must.
(Silence. Then VALMONT changes tack again, moving away this time.)
VALMONT: Well. I think you’ll find your wish that we be separated will succeed beyond your wildest dreams.
TOURVEL: Your decision is …
VALMONT: It’s a function of my despair. I’m as unhappy as you could ever have wanted me to be.
TOURVEL: I’ve only ever wanted your happiness.
(VALMONT moves swiftly to her, falls to his knees and buries his face in her lap.)
VALMONT: How can I be happy without you?
(Cautiously, without answering, as if plunging it into boiling water, MME DE TOURVEL allows her hand to rest for a few seconds on VALMONT’s head. Then, as she removes it, he looks up at her fiercely.)
I must have you or die.
(MME DE TOURVEL scrambles to her feet and retreats across the room. VALMONT watches her and then mutters a bitter aside, loud enough, however, to be heard by her.)
Death it is.
(Silence. MME DE TOURVEL is plainly distraught. VALMONT appears to make a great effort to calm himself. He rises to his feet.)
I’m sorry. I wanted to live for your happiness and I destroyed it. Now I want to give you back your peace of mind and I destroy that too. I’m not used to passion, I can’t deal with it. At least, this is the last time. So be calm.
TOURVEL: It’s difficult when you are in this state, Monsieur.
VALMONT: Yes; well, don’t worry, it won’t last very long.
(He picks up the packet of letters, which MME DE TOURVEL has let drop by her chair.)
These are the only things which might weaken my courage: these deceitful pledges of your friendship. They were all that reconciled me to life.
(He puts them down on the chair. MME DE TOURVEL moves towards him, concerned.)
TOURVEL: I understood you wanted to return them to me. And that you now approved of the choice my duty has compelled me to make.
VALMONT: Yes. And your choice has determined mine.
TOURVEL: Which is what?
VALMONT: The only choice capable of putting an end to my suffering.
TOURVEL: What do you mean?
(Her voice is full of fear. VALMONT is beside her now and she doesn’t resist as he takes her in his arms.)
VALMONT: Listen. I love you. You’ve no idea how much. Remember I’ve made far more difficult sacrifices than the one I’m about to make. Now goodbye.
(He pulls away from her, but she clutches at his wrist.)
TOURVEL: No.
VALMONT: Let me go.
TOURVEL: You must listen to me!
VALMONT: I have to go.
TOURVEL: No!
(She collapses into his arms. He begins to kiss her and she responds: for a moment, they kiss each other greedily. Then he sweeps her up in his arms, carries her across the room, sets her down gently on the ottoman and kneels alongside her. She bursts into tears and clutches on to him as if she’s drowning. He looks down at her as she sobs helplessly and speaks with unusual tenderness.)
VALMONT: Why should you be so upset by the idea of making me happy?
(Gradually, she stops crying and looks up at him.)
TOURVEL: Yes. You’re right. I can’t live either unless I make you happy. So I promise. No more refusals and no more regrets.
(She kisses him. He begins, slowly, to undress her.)