The two lovers were sullen. Lousteau affected dejection, he aimed at appearing hard and cold; while Dinah, really distressed, listened to the reproaches of her heart.
“Why,” said Lousteau presently, “why not end as we ought to have begun—hide our love from all eyes, and see each other in secret?”
“Never!” cried the new-made Countess, with an icy look. “Do you not comprehend that we are, after all, but finite creatures? Our feelings seem infinite by reason of our anticipation of heaven, but here on earth they are limited by the strength of our physical being. There are some feeble, mean natures which may receive an endless number of wounds and live on; but there are some more highly-tempered souls which snap at last under repeated blows. You have—”
“Oh! enough!” cried he. “No more copy! Your dissertation is unnecessary, since you can justify yourself by merely saying—‘I have ceased to love!’”
“What!” she exclaimed in bewilderment. “Is it I who have ceased to love?”
“Certainly. You have calculated that I gave you more trouble, more vexation than pleasure, and you desert your partner—”
“I desert!——” cried she, clasping her hands.
“Have not you yourself just said ‘Never’?”
“Well, then, yes! Never,” she repeated vehemently.
This final Never, spoken in the fear of falling once more under Lousteau’s influence, was interpreted by him as the death-warrant of his power, since Dinah remained insensible to his sarcastic scorn.