Thérèse [interrupting] I—
Nérisse [preventing her from speaking] Wait; I insist upon speaking. You will never love, you say. You will live alone all your life. You're foolish and self-confident enough to think that you can do without a man's affection.
Thérèse. But I—
Nérisse [continuing] I must try to make you understand your folly. These efforts you're making to escape from the ordinary life of affection are useless, and it's lucky for you they are useless. You can't live without love.
Thérèse. Why?
Nérisse. All lonely people are wretched. But the lonely woman is twice, a hundred times more wretched than the man. You've no idea what it is. It's to pass all your life under suspicion, yes, suspicion. The world never believes that people live differently from others unless they have secret reasons, and the world always says that secret reasons are shameful reasons. And that's not all. Think of the lonely room where you may cry without anyone to hear you. Think of illness where to your bodily pain is added the mental torture of the fear of dying all alone. Think of the empty heart, the empty arms always, always. And in old age, more wretchedness in the regret for a wasted life. And for what and for whom are you making this sacrifice? For a convention; for a morality that nobody really believes in. Who'll think the better of you for it? People won't even believe in your honesty. They will find explanations for it that would make you die of shame if you knew them. Is that what you want, Thérèse? I am unhappy. Love me. Oh, if you only—
Thérèse. Please spare me your confidences.
Nérisse. You think this is only a caprice on my part. You are mistaken. I ask you to share my life.
Thérèse. I will never be your mistress.
Nérisse. You're proud and you're strong. You insist upon marriage. Very well. I agree.