"No."
"What is it, Nacha? Why are you so strange? I love you, you love me...."
Her will triumphed. She called to mind other moments of her life and made one supreme effort. Then she began to laugh.
"No, I couldn't love you. All this is ridiculous anyway! Such make-believe is unworthy of you. I put you out of my house once before, and I'll do it again. You simply want to make fun of me, because I'm a poor girl, and defenceless. You wanted to make a fool of me, getting me to swallow all this stuff! But now it's my turn to laugh at you, just as I did in the cabaret. I—married! And to you, a crazy man!"
She broke into a laugh that was loud and false and harsh.
Monsalvat remained seated, his hands clasped over his head; he was dizzy with pain, and he could not understand....
"You are mad ... you have gone mad!" he exclaimed.
Was she really fainting? She saw Monsalvat cover his face with his hands; she turned to the wall and leaned against it, letting herself weep for a brief moment. There was relief in that. With renewed strength, she sat down on a chair and waited. Soon Monsalvat stood up. He too was pale as he came near her and, barely looking at her, held out his hand.
"Some time ... you will ... let me see you?" he faltered.
"No. Why should I? I don't love you. Leave me. And if it's true that you love me, forget me as soon as you can. Go, please! I am ill, and want to be alone...."