"Arthur, I told you I did not understand you, your cold, ironical look distresses me, it recalls that dreadful day when-- Speak to me, tell me what is on your mind, explain yourself. _Mon Dieu!_ What can I have done to offend you so? Does this plan displease you? I give it up, then, let us think no more about it; but in Heaven's name, tell me what is the matter? What has changed you so suddenly? Yesterday, this very morning even, you were so kind, so affectionate, your last letter was so full of tenderness!" "Yesterday, and even this morning, I was a blind fool; I am as great a fool as ever, perhaps, but at least I have my eyes open." "Your eyes open!" said Marguerite, stupidly. "As to my last letter, you know as well as I, perhaps better, that though it may be difficult to act a lie in speech and look and gesture, nothing can be easier or commoner than to lie in studied phrases, and with plenty of time at our disposal. Thus, when I wrote you that last letter, so full of tender things, you say, I had just obtained the promise of a rendezvous with Madame de V----." "Arthur, Arthur! this is very cruel pleasantry. It may be amusing to you, but you surely can not know how cruel it is to me." "It does not amuse me at all, madame; and it is no pleasantry. I swear it is not. On the contrary, I am speaking very seriously, as a friend, so that you may no longer be deceived by my falseness, or I be your dupe." "Dupe? dupe of my falseness?" "Yes." "My falseness! my dupe! What strange language from you! And why should you be my dupe? What does it mean? It is inexplicable. And why should you say such things to me? _Mon Dieu!_" "You know why I say such things better than I do. It is because I am not the first one of your lovers to whom you have proposed this entertaining suburban _pastorale_." Marguerite clasped her hands and let them fall on her knees. She stared at me with wide-open eyes, that were full of sorrow and amazement. But I was quite determined to go on, though my heart was beating wildly, and the souvenir of my last meeting with Hélène flashed through my mind like a scorching tongue of flame. "You see, my dear friend, amid the distractions of society, one can find time to play the lover, and have the good sense to ignore all former occupants in the beloved one's affections; for why should we worry about the past? Does it belong to us? We have the future, and the devil knows what it has in reserve for us. "As for filling in any reputable way the part of the 'lover without ancestry,' in that mystery play of yours, with you and your femme de chambre as spectators, performing as others have done this rôle of lover in your play, 'Love in a Cottage,' one must be a better comedian than I am. Really, my dear Marguerite, I fear I should not act as well as my predecessors, and I wish to retain the good opinion you have always had of me."