_Infanta._ Ah! how far from it!

_Leonora._ What more can you expect?

_Infanta._ Nay, rather, what hope canst thou forbid me [to entertain]?
If Rodrigo fights under these conditions, to counteract the effect of it
[that conflict], I have too many resources. Love, this sweet author of
my cruel punishments, puts into [_lit._ teaches] the minds of lovers too
many stratagems.

_Leonora._ Can _you_ [accomplish] anything, since a dead father has not
been able to kindle discord in their minds? For Chimène clearly shows by
her behavior that hatred to-day does not cause her pursuit. She obtains
the [privilege of a] combat, and for her champion, she accepts on the
moment the first that offers. She has not recourse to those renowned
knights [_lit._ noble hands] whom so many famous exploits render so
glorious; Don Sancho suffices her, and merits her choice, because he is
going to arm himself for the first time; she loves in this duel his want
of experience; as he is without renown, [so] is she without
apprehension; and her readiness [to accept him], ought to make you
clearly see that she seeks for a combat which her duty demands, but
which yields her Rodrigo an easy victory, and authorizes her at length
to seem appeased.

_Infanta._ I observe it clearly; and nevertheless my heart, in rivalry
with Chimène, adores this conqueror. On what shall I resolve, hopeless
lover that I am?

_Leonora._ To remember better from whom you are sprung. Heaven owes you