LUCIE. But you, madame, yourself—you and your husband are a proof that one can marry poor and make a fortune. Your story is well known. Your husband began in an office, then he started his own business; and if riches make happiness, you are happy now—you and he—aren’t you?
MME. B. No, no, no; we are not happy, because we have worn ourselves out hunting after happiness. We wanted to ‘get on,’ and we got on. But what a price we paid for it! First, when we were both earning wages, our life was one long drudgery of petty economy and meanness. When we set up on our own account we lived in an atmosphere of trickery, of enmity, of lying; flattering the customers, and always in terror of bankruptcy. Oh, I know the road to fortune! It means tears, lies, envy, hate; one suffers—and one makes other people suffer. I’ve had to go through it: my children shan’t. We’ve only had two children: we meant only to have one. Having two we had to be doubly hard upon ourselves. Instead of a husband and wife helping one another, we have been partners spying upon one another; calling one another to account for every little expenditure or stupidity; and on our very pillows disputing about our business. That’s how we got rich; and now we can’t enjoy our money because we don’t know how to use it; and we aren’t happy because our old age is made bitter by the memories and the rancor left from the old bad days: because we have suffered too much and hated too much. My children shall not go through this. I endured it that they might be spared. Good-bye, madame.
LUCIE. Good-bye.
Madame Bernin goes out. After a moment Lucie goes slowly to Annette’s door and opens it.
ANNETTE [coming in] You’ve been crying! It’s because I’m going away, isn’t it? Not because there’s anything in the way of—[with increasing trouble] Tell me, Lucie!
LUCIE. You love him so much then?
ANNETTE. If we were not to be married—I should die.
LUCIE. No, you wouldn’t die. Think of all the girls who have said that: did they die?