How did you tell him that?
I don’t remember.
It must have been amusing.
No, he appeared very much surprised at first.
Then I formulated a nice little speech and learned
it by heart, in which I asked him to carry such intermittent
fancies elsewhere. He understood me, saluted me
very courteously, and—did as I asked him.
Did he never come back?
Never, until—
JACQUES DE RANDOL [interrupts]
Has he never again tried to tell you of his love?
No, never, until—
JACQUES DE RANDOL [interrupts]
Have you regretted it?
That is of small importance. What is of importance,
though, is that he has had innumerable mistresses
whom he entertains, whom he supports, whom he takes
out. It is this that has irritated and humiliated
me—in fact, cut me to the quick. But
then I took heart of grace, and too late, two years
too late, I took a lover—you!
JACQUES DE RANDOL [kisses her hand]
And I, Madeline, I love you with my whole soul.
Well, all this is not at all proper.
What do you mean by “all this”?
Life in general—my husband—his
mistresses—myself—and you.
Your words—prove beyond a doubt that you
do not love me.
Why?
You dare to say of love that it is not proper?
If you loved me, it might be divine, but a loving
woman would abhor a phrase which should contain such
an idea. What! True love not proper?
Possibly. It all depends upon the point of view.
For myself, I see too much.
What do you see?
I see too well, too far, too clearly.
