Listen, this is all that has happened. As soon as you left me, I became very ill. I suffered so much that I thought I was going to die. The doctor ordered a change of air. You remember, it was in the spring. I went to Saint-Malo—to that old relative, of whom I have often talked to you.
JEAN
Yes, yes.
MUSOTTE
It was in Saint-Malo, after some days, that I realized that you had left me a pledge of your affection. My first desire was to tell you everything, for I knew that you were an honest man—that you would have recognized this child, perhaps even have given up your marriage; but I would not have had you do that. All was over; was it not?—and it was better that it should be so. I knew that I could never be your wife [smiles], Musotte, me, Madame Martinel—oh, no!
JEAN
My poor, dear girl. How brutal and hard we men are, without thinking of it and without wishing to be so!
MUSOTTE
Don't say that. I was not made for you. I was only a little model; and you, you were a rising artist, and I never thought that you would belong to me forever. [Jean sheds tears.] No, no, don't cry; you have nothing to reproach yourself with. You have always been so good to me. It is only God who has been cruel to me.
JEAN