She hesitated: 

“Ah, to say whom one loves or loves not is not an easy thing for a woman, or at least for me.  I do not know how other women do.  But life is not good to me.  I am tossed to and fro by force of circumstances.”

He looked at her calmly.  An idea came to him.  He had taken a resolution; he forgave, he forgot, provided she returned to him at once.

“Therese, you do not love him.  It was an error, a moment of forgetfulness, a horrible and stupid thing that you did through weakness, through surprise, perhaps in spite.  Swear to me that you never will see him again.”

He took her arm: 

“Swear to me!”

She said not a word, her teeth were set, her face was sombre.  He wrenched her wrist.  She exclaimed: 

“You hurt me!”

However, he followed his idea; he led her to the table, on which, near the brushes, were an ink-stand, and several leaves of letter-paper ornamented with a large blue vignette, representing the facade of the hotel, with innumerable windows.

“Write what I am about to dictate to you.  I will call somebody to take the letter.”

And as she resisted, he made her fall on her knees.  Proud and determined, she said: 

“I can not, I will not.”

“Why?”

“Because—­do you wish to know?—­because I love him.”

Brusquely he released her.  If he had had his revolver at hand, perhaps he would have killed her.  But almost at once his anger was dampened by sadness; and now, desperate, he was the one who wished to die.

“Is what you say true?  Is it possible?”

“How do I know?  Can I say?  Do I understand?  Have I an idea, a sentiment, about anything?”

With an effort she added: 

“Am I at this moment aware of anything except my sadness and your despair?”

“You love him, you love him!  What is he, who is he, that you should love him?”

His surprise made him stupid; he was in an abyss of astonishment.  But what she had said separated them.  He dared not complain.  He only repeated: 

“You love him, you love him!  But what has he done to you, what has he said, to make you love him?  I know you.  I have not told you every time your ideas shocked me.  I would wager he is not even a man in society.  And you believe he loves you?  You believe it?  Well, you are deceiving yourself.  He does not love you.  You flatter him, simply.  He will quit you at the first opportunity.  When he shall have compromised you, he will abandon you.  Next year people will say of you:  ’She is not at all exclusive.’  I am sorry for your father; he is one of my friends, and will know of your behavior.  You can not expect to deceive him.”

She listened, humiliated but consoled, thinking how she would have suffered had she found him generous.

In his simplicity he sincerely disdained her.  This disdain relieved him.