"What matters it, when I do not love him?"
Jacob walked up and down the room, and then stopped near Mathilde and looked at her fixedly.
"Pardon me," said he; "but a wild idea has just come into my mind."
"What idea? Tell me quickly."
"Divorce."
"No, no!" cried she. "I do not wish to bring to one whom I love with all my soul the miserable remains of my life, a broken heart and a sick body. Your idea is wicked and foolish. We have no right to seek happiness through scandal. Happiness gained thus will soon cease. Are we not happy as we are? What more can we wish? We can see each other often, talk, and press each other's hands, and we ought to be satisfied. To come nearer would, perhaps, prove a disenchantment for us both. Let us not renounce a supportable existence for dreams. Humiliated, faded, and weak, I am no longer the girl you formerly loved. No, no! Jacob, in the name of our love, never mention that word again. Do not tempt me; do not make me dream of happiness that can never be realized; it is impossible."
"The impossibility is only in your imagination. The thing is very feasible, dear Mathilde. What is there to bind you to your husband. He is as indifferent to you as you are to him. You have no children."
"Do not make me blush, Jacob. A woman should belong to but one man; whatever be her lot, happy or unhappy, she should submit, and be humble and resigned. I cannot commence life over again, and, moreover, I am standing on the threshold of the tomb, while your life has just begun."
"I thought that you loved me, Mathilde, as much as I love you!"
"More, for I have courage to sacrifice myself for your happiness. You cannot imagine how this idea of belonging to you has troubled my spirit. I assure you it has tempted me more than once, and I have always put it from me, as I do now. Have pity on me, do not oblige me to weep. I am weak, do not take advantage of my weakness."