He laughed:
“That old hag! No, not angry. She’s in the dumps because she has no one with her. She set great store by you. She likes to have pretty people about her, she said. She can’t stand an ugly companion, with no chic.... There, get undressed and go to bed. I’ll leave you and go and sit downstairs somewhere.”
They stood up. His eyes had a golden glimmer in them; his moustache was lifted by his ironic smile. And he caught her fiercely in his arms:
“Cornélie,” he said, hoarsely, “I think it’s wonderful to have you back again. Do you belong to me, tell me, do you belong to me?”
He pressed her to him till he almost stifled her with the pressure of his arms:
“Tell me, do you belong to me?”
“Yes.”
“What used you to say to me in the old days, when you were in love with me?”
She hesitated.
“What used you to say?” he insisted, holding her still more tightly.