LUCIE. I didn’t love you.
BRIGNAC. This is nice news. Go on.
LUCIE. You’re only another victim of the morals you were championing just now.
BRIGNAC. I don’t know what you mean.
LUCIE. When you asked me to marry you I was tired of waiting in poverty for the man I could have loved. I didn’t want to become an old maid. I took you, but I knew you came to me because the girls with money wouldn’t have you. You were on the shelf, too. I made up my mind to try and love you loyally.
BRIGNAC. Well, then?
LUCIE. The first time I was going to have a child you left me for other women. Since then I have only put up with you. I was too cowardly not to. You may as well know it. I wanted my first child; the others I’ve had only because you made me. Each time you left me—I was so ugly! Yes; ugly through you! You left me at home, alone, dreary, repulsive, to come back from the arms of some prostitute, full of hypocritical solicitude for my health! After the fatigue of nursing I begged for a rest, to have a breathing space, so that I might have some life of my own; and when I demanded only to have children at my own wish, you laughed like a self-satisfied fool. Oh, your fatuous pride, your base egoism, your utter want of thought for the future of your children and the life of your wife! So you forced on me the labor and the agony and the danger of having another child. What did it matter to you? It flattered your vanity to make merry with your friends and give yourself the airs of a fine fellow. Idiot!
BRIGNAC. I’ve had enough of this. You’re my wife!
LUCIE. I won’t be your wife any more. I won’t have any more children.
BRIGNAC. Pray why?