“Yes, mademoiselle.”
“You are married, and you concealed it from me, and you—oh! your behavior has been shocking! I hate you, I detest you, as much as I esteemed and liked you before. You are married! Why didn’t you tell me so, monsieur?”
“As I had ceased to live with my wife, it seemed to me, mademoiselle, that I was at liberty to——”
“At liberty, yes, of course you were at liberty. What do you care for the distress, the torture you may cause others? Perhaps you laugh at it in secret. I see that there was no mistake in what people said of you. And yet the portrait was not flattering. However, you must have heard it yourself yesterday. Was it the truth, monsieur?”
“Yes, mademoiselle.”
“So you abandoned your wife without cause, without lawful reason?”
“Yes, mademoiselle.”
“And you saw her condition, her suffering—and it did not touch you? you did not throw yourself at her feet and ask her pardon for your wrongdoing?—Oh! you are a monster!”
She put her handkerchief to her eyes, and wept and sobbed. I could do nothing but sigh and hold my peace. At last she continued:
“You must go back to your wife, monsieur; it is your duty. Won’t you do it? Remember what an effect the sight of you had upon her! Poor woman! how far I was from suspecting! And that does not make you repent of your conduct? Mon Dieu! your heart is pitiless! Ah! I had not formed that opinion of you.—But, Monsieur Dalbreuse—that name alone comes to my mind—promise me, swear to me that you will go back to your wife.”