fear it, and [yet] I desire it; I dare to hope from it only an
incomplete joy; my honor and my love have for me such attractions, that
I [shall] die whether it be accomplished, or whether it be not
accomplished.

_Leonora._ Dear lady, after that I have nothing more to say, except
that, with you, I sigh for your misfortunes; I blamed you a short time
since, now I pity you. But since in a misfortune [i.e. an ill-timed
love] so sweet and so painful, your noble spirit [_lit._ virtue]
contends against both its charm and its strength, and repulses its
assault and regrets its allurements, it will restore calmness to your
agitated feelings. Hope then every [good result] from it, and from the
assistance of time; hope everything from heaven; it is too just [_lit._
it has too much justice] to leave virtue in such a long continued
torture.

_Infanta._ My sweetest hope is to lose hope.

(_The Page re-enters._)

_Page._ By your commands, Chimène comes to see you.

_Infanta_ (to _Leonora_). Go and converse with her in that gallery
[yonder].

_Leonora._ Do you wish to continue in dreamland?

_Infanta._ No, I wish, only, in spite of my grief, to compose myself
[_lit._ to put my features a little more at leisure]. I follow you.