"You wished to see me, sir," she said in her calm voice. "In fact, I intended to come and thank you for all your kindness to me."
On entering, she had perceived the million on the table, and the display of that money wounded her. Above her, as if watching the scene, was the portrait of Madame Hédouin, in its gilded frame, and with the eternal smile of its painted lips.
"You are still resolved to leave us?" asked Mouret, in a trembling voice.
"Yes, sir. I must."
Then he took her hands, and, in an outburst of tenderness, after the long coldness he had imposed on himself exclaimed: "And if I asked you to marry me, Denise, would you still leave?"
But she rapidly drew her hands away, struggling as if under the influence of a great grief. "Oh! Monsieur Mouret! Pray say no more. Oh! don't cause me even greater pain than before! I cannot! I cannot! Heaven is my witness that I was going away to avoid such a misfortune!"
She continued to defend herself in broken sentences. Had she not already suffered too much from the gossip of the house? Did he wish her to pass in the eyes of others and his own for a worthless woman? No, no, she would be strong, she would certainly prevent him doing such a foolish thing. He, tortured, listened to her, repeating in a passionate tone: "I wish it. I wish it!"
"No, it's impossible. And my brothers? I have sworn not to marry. I cannot bring you those children, can I?"
"They shall be my brothers, too. Say yes, Denise."
"No, no, leave me. You are torturing me!"