This time, the thrust went home. Marthe shivered, stung to the quick.
Her face altered. And she said, in a voice which she made an effort to
contain:

"Oh, that, no! If Philippe fell in love with another woman, if he wanted
to begin his life again, without me, and if he confessed it frankly, I
should consent to everything ... yes, to everything, even to a divorce,
however great my despair.... But treachery, lying ..."

"You would not forgive him?"

"Never! Philippe is not a man whom one can forgive. He is a conscious
man, who knows what he is doing, incapable of a weakness; and no
forgiveness would absolve him. Besides, I myself could not ... no ... I
could not indeed." And she added, "I have too much pride."

The phrase was gravely and simply uttered and revealed a haughtiness of
soul which Suzanne had not suspected. She felt a sort of confusion in
the presence of the rival whom she was attacking and who held her at bay
with such disdain.

A long silence divided the two women; and Marthe said:

"You're in one of your wicked moods to-day, Suzanne, aren't you?"

"I am too happy to be wicked," chuckled the girl. "Only it's such a
strange happiness! I am afraid it won't last."

"Your marriage ..."

"I won't get married!" declared Suzanne, excitedly. "I won't get married
at any price! I hate that man.... He's not the only man in the world, is
he? There are others ... others who will love me.... I too am worthy of
being loved ... worthy of being lived for!..."

There were tears in her voice; and so great a despondency overwhelmed
her features that Marthe felt a longing to console her, as was her habit
in such cases. Nevertheless, she said nothing. Suzanne had wounded her,
not so much by her questions as by her attitude, by a certain sarcasm in
her accent and by an air of defiance that mingled with the expression of
her grief.

She preferred to cut short a painful scene the meaning of which escaped
her, although the scene itself did not astonish her on Suzanne's part:

"I am going downstairs," she said. "It's time for the post; and I am
expecting letters."

"So you're leaving me!" said Suzanne, in a broken voice.

Marthe could not help laughing:

"Well, yes, I am leaving you in this room ... unless you refuse to
stay...."

Suzanne ran after her and, holding her back:

"You mustn't! I only ask for a movement, a kind word.... I am passing
through a terrible time, I need help and you ... you repel me.... I