“Yes.”
“Really and truly?”
“Yes.”
“Then take care of me.”
He exclaimed:
“Take care of you? In my own house? Here? Why, you are mad. It would mean losing you forever; losing you beyond hope of recall! You are mad!”
She replied, slowly and seriously, like a woman who feels the weight of her words:
“Listen, Jacques. He has forbidden me to see you again, and I will not play this comedy of coming secretly to your house. You must either lose me or take me.”
“My dear Irene, in that case, obtain your divorce, and I will marry you.”
“Yes, you will marry me in—two years at the soonest. Yours is a patient love.”