"Listen, Liane! What terms are you on with him?"
"Why—why—very good!"
"Yes, I know. But listen—understand me clearly. He is—he is your husband, in fact—and—and—you don't know how much I have been brooding over this for some time past—how much it torments, tortures me. You know what I mean. Tell me!"
She hesitated a few seconds, then in a flash she realized his entire meaning, and with an outburst of indignant candor:
"Oh! my darling!—can you—can you think such a thing? Oh! I am yours—do you understand?—yours alone—since I love you—oh! Paul!"
He let his head sink on the young woman's lap, and in a very soft voice, said:
"But!—after all, Liane, you know he is your husband. What will you do? Have you thought of that? Tell me! What will you do this evening or to-morrow? For you cannot—always, always say 'No' to him!"
She murmured, speaking also in a very low tone: "I have pretended to be enceinte, and—and that is enough for him. Oh! there is scarcely anything between us—Come! say no more about this, my darling. You don't know how this wounds me. Trust me, since I love you!"
He did not move, breathing hard and kissing her dress, while she caressed his face with her amorous, dainty Fingers.
But, all of a sudden, she said: "We must go back, for they will notice that we are both absent."