"You wrote me a nice letter." "How's that ?" "Confess frankly that you are through with me." He denied this, but she shook her head.
"Well," he said, "what have you to reproach me with?
Having written you only a short note?
But there was someone here, I was busy and I didn't have time to assemble pretty speeches.

Not having set a date sooner?
I told you our relation necessitates precautions, and we can't see each other very often.

I think I gave you clearly to understand my motives--" "I am so stupid that I probably did not understand them.

You spoke to me of 'family reasons,' I believe." "Yes." "Rather vague." "Well, I couldn't go into detail and tell you that--" He stopped, asking himself whether the time had come to break decisively with her, but he remembered that he wanted her aid in getting information about Docre.
"That what?
Tell me." He shook his head, hesitating, not to tell her a lie, but to insult and humiliate her.
"Well," he went on, "since you force me to do it, I will confess, at whatever cost, that I have had a mistress for several years--I add that our relations are now purely amical--" "Very well," she interrupted, "your family reasons are sufficient." "And then," he pursued, in a lower tone, "if you wish to know all, well--I have a child by her." "A child! Oh, you poor dear." She rose.

"Then there is nothing for me to do but withdraw." But he seized her hands, and, at the same time satisfied with the success of his deception and ashamed of his brutality, he begged her to stay awhile.