“Her only recourse is silence.”
“You are wrong; the lover who suspects her casts an aspersion on her entire life. I know it. Her plea is in her tears, her past life, her devotion and her patience. What will happen if she remains silent? Her lover will lose her by her own act and time will justify her. Is not that your thought?”
“Perhaps; silence before all.”
“Perhaps, you say? Assuredly I will lose you if you do not speak; my resolution is made: I am going away alone.”
“But, Octave—”
“But,” I cried, “time will justify you! Let us put an end to it; yes or no?”
“Yes, I hope so.”
“You hope so! Will you answer me definitely? This is doubtless the last time you will have the opportunity. You tell me that you love me, and I believe it. I suspect you; is it your intention to allow me to go away and rely on time to justify you?”
“Of what do you suspect me?”
“I do not choose to say, for I see that it would be useless. But, after all, misery for misery, at your leisure; I am as well pleased. You deceive me, you love another; that is your secret and mine.”