DOCTOR. Go on, go on.
WOMAN. I know I oughtn’t to mind, but I haven’t always been so poor. We were well off before my husband fell ill, and I’ve always lived by my own work. It’s not as it is for a woman who hasn’t any self-respect. I know it’s wrong, but having to wait like that with everyone else and to tell all about myself before everyone—I know I’m wrong, but it’s hard all the same, it’s very hard.
DOCTOR. Poor woman. [A pause. Then very gently] So it was from your husband that you caught this disease?
WOMAN. Yes, sir. We used to live in the country and then my husband caught it and went half mad. He didn’t know what he was doing, and used to order all kinds of things we couldn’t pay for.
DOCTOR. Why did he not get himself looked after?
WOMAN. He didn’t know. We were sold up and came to Paris: we hadn’t any more money. Then he went to the hospital.
DOCTOR. Well?
WOMAN. He got looked after there, but they wouldn’t give him any medicines.
DOCTOR. How was that?