"It will never come for me, Auntie. Oh, forgive me! I feel ashamed of myself. I don't want to talk like this ... but with you, just with you, because you're fond of me, I can't restrain myself.... Oh, tell me that you forgive me, say it, say it!"
"My child, if it does you any good to hear me say so, though I have nothing to forgive, very well, I forgive you."
"Oh, thank you, thank you, Auntie!... You are good and kind; you understand."
"Yes, dear, I understand. But the real thing will come later."
"No, nothing will ever come, nothing can come...."
"Can't it?"
"No, how could it?"
"If you had the strength and courage not to give in, Marianne, there would be happiness for you in days to come."
"But I have neither courage, Auntie, nor strength. What am I? Nothing. There is a great, big river, which rushes and flows, carrying everything, everything with it, like a deluge. And then there is ... a tiny twig, a leaf. That's what I am, Auntie.... How can I hope to...?"
"You're talking in parables, my child. Shall I do the same?"