"Of course. But what can you expect? One cannot oblige people to do what they refuse to do. A thing either pleases, or it does not please."
"What have I refused to do, Joseph?"
"And besides, you are always full of bad ideas about me," he continues, without answering my question.
"Why do you say that?"
"Because...."
"No, no, Joseph; you no longer love me; you have something else in mind now. I have refused nothing; I have reflected, that is all. It is natural enough, isn't it? One does not make a life-contract without reflection. My hesitation, on the contrary, ought to make you think well of me. It proves that I am not light-headed,—that I am a serious woman."
"You are a good woman, Célestine, an orderly woman."
"Well, then?"
At last Joseph stops walking, and, gazing at me with profound and still suspicious, but yet tenderer, eyes, he says, slowly:
"It is not that, Célestine. There is no question of that. I do not prevent you from reflecting. Reflect all you like. There is plenty of time, and we will talk again on my return. But what I do not like, you see, is so much curiosity. There are things that do not concern women; there are things...."