"I am too happy to be wicked," chuckled the girl. "Only it's such a strange happiness! I am afraid it won't last."
"Your marriage ..."
"I won't get married!" declared Suzanne, excitedly. "I won't get married at any price! I hate that man.... He's not the only man in the world, is he? There are others ... others who will love me.... I too am worthy of being loved ... worthy of being lived for!..."
There were tears in her voice; and so great a despondency overwhelmed her features that Marthe felt a longing to console her, as was her habit in such cases. Nevertheless, she said nothing. Suzanne had wounded her, not so much by her questions as by her attitude, by a certain sarcasm in her accent and by an air of defiance that mingled with the expression of her grief.
She preferred to cut short a painful scene the meaning of which escaped her, although the scene itself did not astonish her on Suzanne's part:
"I am going downstairs," she said. "It's time for the post; and I am expecting letters."
"So you're leaving me!" said Suzanne, in a broken voice.
Marthe could not help laughing:
"Well, yes, I am leaving you in this room ... unless you refuse to stay...."
Suzanne ran after her and, holding her back: