—You do not answer, sir, she said. You do not look upon me as your friend, that is wrong. Is it because I have surprised your secrets?
—I have no secrets.
—Yes?…. Suzanne?
—Enough on that subject. Do not revive my shame, since you call yourself my friend.
—Oh! sir, it is precisely for that, it is because I do not want you to distress yourself about so little. Listen to me, sir, I am older than you, and although I am not so learned, I have the experience which, as they say, is not picked up in books: well, this experience has taught me many things which perhaps you do not suspect.
—Explain yourself.
—I would have explained already, if you had wished it. The other evening you were quite sad, sitting by that fireless grate; you were thinking of I don't know what, but certainly it was not of anything very lively, so much so that it went to my heart. I suspected what was vexing you; I wanted to speak to you, but you repulsed me almost brutally. Nevertheless, if you had listened to me that day, what has just happened might not have occurred.
—I don't understand you.
—I will make myself understood … if you allow me.