"Well! as you make no concealment of it, you ought not to be angry because I ask the question."
"There are some things that one doesn't conceal, or conceals imperfectly, that one doesn't like to have thrown in one's face, none the less. But you have said a lot of——"
"Stupid things! Finish the sentence, pray! I am like you, I hate unfinished sentences."
"Well, yes! Stupid isn't just the word, but things that people keep to themselves when they think them."
"I beg your pardon. I have the bad habit of saying whatever comes into my mind. It's a serious fault, I admit, and I have often had occasion to regret it in society. I regret it all the more, because I see that it has annoyed you, for you have ceased to tutoyer me; and yet you were the one who said to me just now: 'Let us have no secrets from each other.'"
Frédérique turned her face to mine, with a charming smile, and held out her hand, saying:
"You are right I was foolish to be angry, as we agreed to be like two brothers. Come, give me your hand! That's right! The fact is, you see, that you touched a sensitive chord. I have quarrelled with Saint-Bergame; the wound is still fresh; and wounds in the vicinity of the heart do not heal quickly. I will tell you about it."
"No, it's not necessary. I don't want to know it."
"Oh! but I want to tell you, now. Upon my word, he is trying to prevent my speaking!"
"Because I sincerely regret——"