“Uncle Henri!”
“He is a young man.... Marianne, tell me that it’s not true....”
“That he makes love to me? I’m fond of him ... just as I’m fond of Aunt Constance.”
“That you love him. There, you can’t deny it. You love him.”
“I do not love him,” she lied.
“Yes, you do, you love him.”
“I do not love him.”
“Yes, you do.”
“Very well, then, I do!” she said, curtly. “I love him. What then?”
“Marianne....”