“A little before Madame Dammauville’s death, when you became irritable and furious without cause; when you told me to go because you did not wish to see Madame Dammauville; when, the night before her death, you were so tender, and asked me not to judge you without recalling that hour.”
“Yet you have judged me.”
“Never. When worry urged me, my love checked me.”
“What provoked this uneasiness outside of these facts?”
“Your manner of living since our marriage; your accesses of anger and of tenderness; your fear of being observed; your agitation at night; your complaints—”
“I talked?” he cried.
“Never distinctly; you groan often, and moan, pronouncing broken words without sense, unintelligible—”
His anguish was violent; when he recovered he continued:
“What is it in this way of living that has made you uneasy?”
“Your constant care not to commit yourself—”