"Titine, this suddenness is not negro—it is impulse and romance. How long did Romeo know Juliet?"
"And what came of their love but death? Dan, we can be good friends, brother and sister, but you must not ask me to go through with a mock ceremony, the sentimental joke of a plantation, and pretend that I am your wife. When we reflect upon our condition we must be miserable. Education has made us unhappy, except when we lose our minds in a book; and to unite two miseries, two conditions of helplessness—a crime!" she cried. "Yes, I have read French romances. Year after year I sat beside my mistress and read to her and listened to her remarks upon the phases of life that came under our view. She called me precocious—a reflex of her own mind. My mind was apt and it stored many images and caught many a color from my surroundings, and—but what is the use of talking about myself?"
"Titine, listen to me. Something tells me that the world will not always be thus, holding the worshippers of nature in a grip of bondage—"
"Hush!" she cried, putting her hands to her ears. "When you have changed the subject I will listen to you."
"You will listen now!" I cried, springing to my feet, grasping her hands, holding them tight, bending her backward, gazing into her eyes. "You will listen to me now." Her eyes darted forked tongues at mine, and I liberated her. She smiled and sat down. "Yes," she said sweetly, her anger vanishing, "I will listen to you now."
"First, let me beg your pardon."
"Oh, another mockery. Let us skip that. Let me hear your speech; you are a lawyer."
"I will not make the speech of a lawyer, but of a lover."
"You can't love. You are a negro." She said this with bitterness and her laugh was cold.
"Titine, even an animal can love."