The following afternoon. The salon in Mme de Tourvel’s house. As her FOOTMAN shows in VALMONT, she springs to her feet, unable to conceal her delight. He however looks strained and weary and advances almost reluctantly into the room, as the FOOTMAN leaves them. MME DE TOURVEL runs over to him and buries herself in his arms. He embraces her almost involuntarily, bracing himself against what is to come.

TOURVEL:   You’re only five minutes late, but I get so frightened. I become convinced I’m never going to see you again.

(VALMONT carefully disentangles himself and puts some distance between them before he speaks.)

VALMONT:   My angel.

TOURVEL:   Is it like that for you?

VALMONT:   Oh, yes. At the moment, for example, I’m quite convinced I’m never going to see you again.

(Silence. TOURVEL frowns, trying to make sense of this.)

TOURVEL:   What?

VALMONT:   I’m so bored, you see. It’s beyond my control.

TOURVEL:   What do you mean?

VALMONT:   After all, it’s been four months. So, what I say. It’s beyond my control.

TOURVEL:   Do you mean … do you mean you don’t love me any more?

VALMONT:   My love had great difficulty outlasting your virtue. It’s beyond my control.

TOURVEL:   It’s that woman, isn’t it?

VALMONT:   You’re quite right, I have been deceiving you with Émilie. Among others. It’s beyond my control.

TOURVEL:   Why are you doing this?

VALMONT:   Perhaps your merciless vulnerability has driven me to it. Anyway, it’s beyond my control.

TOURVEL:   I can’t believe this is happening.

VALMONT:   There’s a woman. Not Émilie, another woman. A woman I adore. And I’m afraid she’s insisting I give you up. It’s beyond my control.

TOURVEL:   Liar!

VALMONT:   You’re right, I am a liar. It’s like your fidelity, a fact of life, no more nor less irritating. Certainly, it’s beyond my control.

TOURVEL:   Stop it, don’t keep saying that!

VALMONT:   Sorry. It’s beyond my control.

TOURVEL:   Do you want to kill me?

VALMONT:   Listen. Listen to me. You’ve given me great pleasure. But I just can’t bring myself to regret leaving you. It’s the way of the world. Quite beyond my control.