“I am not loved,” she said, giving him one of those sly oblique glances with which women question so maliciously the men they are trying to torment.
“Not loved!” cried Nathan.
“No; you are too occupied with other things. What am I to you in the midst of them? forgotten on the least occasion! Yesterday I came to the Bois and you were not here—”
“But—”
“I had put on a new dress expressly to please you; you did not come; where were you?”
“But—”
“I did not know where. I went to Madame d’Espard’s; you were not there.”
“But—”
“That evening at the Opera, I watched the balcony; every time a door opened my heart was beating!”
“But—”