Celina's answer to Zilia.

I should not have left you, my dear Zilia, if I had not supposed you more resigned to a misfortune, which is now past remedy. I should, indeed, have looked upon it as an affront to you, to have imagined that the inconstant Aza would still fill a place in your heart; he is really unworthy of it, he who was so well acquainted with your merit, and could yet break his chains. It is too plain, that love is still a warm advocate for him in your heart; but it is impossible to justify him, even with all the pains you take to make him appear less guilty, which is only owing to the goodness of your soul, and the tenderness it still feels for this ungrateful man.

But do not, my dear Zilia, still deceive yourself; his passion was never like yours; he never felt any of those little uneasinesses which warm and increase love: jealousy, caprice, and coldness you was incapable of; he was therefore secure of your heart, in which he found nothing but tenderness and softness of disposition: a passion, perhaps rather too ardent on your side, without any trial of his, was the first source of your misfortunes; he was tired of love, because it had made him too happy.

It is no hard matter I think, my dear Zilia, to determine which it was; religion, or the beauty of the fair Spaniard, which made him give you up. If we charitably believe it to be the first, he is certainly justifiable; but as these two objects are joined, I cannot help very much suspecting him. However it be, you are very blamable, my dear friend, not to banish from your thoughts this perfidious man; you are nourishing an idea for ever fatal to your peace: let us talk no more about him, I beseech you, but if possible, let us forget there is such a being. You may certainly expect to see me, and I will do all in my power to amuse you; how much do I wish, that I may be able to contribute to the return of your peace of mind, and your future happiness.