"It's all very well for you to talk: would you take a woman who did not love music?"
"I have done so."
"How can a man and a woman live together if they don't think the same?"
"Don't you worry about what you think! Ah! my dear fellow, ideas count for so little when one loves. What does it matter to me whether the woman I love cares for music as much as I do? She herself is music to me! When a man has the luck, as you have, to find a dear girl whom he loves, and she loves him, she must believe what she likes, and he must believe what he likes! When all is said and done, what do your ideas amount to? There is only one truth in the world, there is only one God: love."
"You speak like a poet. You don't see life as it is. I know only too many marriages which have suffered from such a want of union in thought."
"Those husbands and wives did not love each other enough. You have to know what you want."
"Wanting does not do everything in life. Even if I wanted to marry
Mademoiselle Chabran, I couldn't."
"I'd like to know why."
André spoke of his scruples: his position was not assured: he had no fortune and no great health. He was wondering whether he had the right to marry in such circumstances. It was a great responsibility. Was there not a great risk of bringing unhappiness on the woman he loved, and himself,—not to mention any children there might be?… It was better to wait—or give up the idea.
Christophe shrugged his shoulders.