"The affection that I have for you is not a caprice."
"What is it, then? I am curious—"
"It is a passion, Marianne, an absolute, deep, mad passion—"
"Oh! nonsense! nonsense!" said Marianne. "I know that you speak wonderfully well, I have heard you in the tribune. A declaration of love costs you no more than a ministerial declaration. But to-day, my dear minister, I am not disposed to listen to it even from you."
In these last words, there was a certain tenderness that in a measure modified the expression of weariness or sulkiness which Marianne suggested. Sulpice inferred therefrom an implied acceptance of his proffered love.
"Yes," said she abruptly; "I am very sad, frightfully sad."
"Without a cause?" asked Vaudrey.
She shrugged her shoulders.
"Oh! I am not of those who allow their nerves to control them. When I am out of sorts, there is invariably a cause. Let that be understood once for all."
"And the cause?—I should be delighted to learn it, Marianne, for I swear to you that I would always bear a half of your troubles and pains."