CATHOS: Good Heavens, my dear, how deeply is your father still immersed in material things! How dense is his understanding, and what gloom overcasts his soul!
MADELON: What can I do, my dear? I am ashamed of him. I can hardly persuade myself I am indeed his daughter; I believe that an accident, some time or other, will discover me to be of a more illustrious descent.
CATHOS: I believe it; really, it is very likely; as for me, when I consider myself . . .
