"You are ill."
"Not the least in the world."
"Well, Mathilde, so many unfortunate things have happened to me lately, that I come to you to comfort my tortured heart."
"Your heart? It is in the Old Testament."
"I do not understand you. Do you doubt me?"
"Ah! I do not know. This doubt is killing me. I wish to know all the worst; then I can die. You used to be frank and sincere. Why do you deceive me now, like the others?"
"This is too much, Mathilde," said Jacob.
"Oh! I have proofs of your deceit," cried she. "Would it not be better to confide in me as a sister, and say, 'I love another, I am tired of contact with a corpse. I wish a living creature? I would have answered you thus: 'Go, be happy!' In losing you I would at least have kept my respect for you."
"Why do you not respect me now?"
"What! you dare to deny it?"