"It is true, I love her."
"Henri," cried the doctor, with tears in his eyes and with deep emotion, "Henri, I pity you, oh, I pity you."
"It is a love without hope, I know it; but let her live, and I will bless the torments that I must endure near her, because her son, who binds us for ever, will always be a link between her and me."
"Yes, your love is without hope, Henri; yes, delicacy will always prevent your ever letting Marie suspect your sentiments. But that is not all, and I repeat it to you, Henri, you are more to be pitied than you think."
"My God! Pierre, what do you mean?"
"Do you know? But wait, my blood boils, my indignation burns, everything in me revolts, because I cannot speak of such a base atrocity with calmness."
"Unhappy woman, it concerns her. Oh, speak, speak, I pray you. You crush me, you kill me!"
"Just now I was coming to join you."
"And some one stopped you in the passage."
"It was Marguerite. Do you know where Madame Bastien spent a part of the night?"