In a low voice: “Tell me—are you sorry you married me?”
Laughing, “Yes.” Kissing her on the shoulder, “I think I have found the stain again; it was just there.”
“It is two in the morning, the fire is out, and I am a little—you won’t laugh now? Well, I am a little dizzy.”
“A capital pie, eh?”
“A capital pie! We shall have a cup of tea for breakfast tomorrow, shall we not?”
CHAPTER XVIII. FROM ONE THING TO ANOTHER
SCENE.—The country in autumn—The wind is blowing without—MADAME,
seated by the fireside in a large armchair, is engaged in needlework
—MONSIEUR, seated in front of her, is watching the flames of the
fire—A long silence.
Monsieur—Will you pass me the poker, my dear?
Madame—(humming to herself)—“And yet despite so many fears.” (Spoken.) Here is the poker. (Humming.) “Despite the painful——”