FRANÇOISE. Really? Then you believe everything you write? GUÉRIN. Yes, Madame. FRANÇOISE. Take care! This morning I was re-reading one of your letters, in which you promised me your heartiest support. [_Offering him her hand._] Then we're friends, are we not? GUÉRIN [_after hesitating, takes her hand_]. Good friends, Madame! FRANÇOISE. Word of honor? GUÉRIN. Word of honor! FRANÇOISE [_sitting_]. Then I'll stay. Sit down, and let's talk. [_Guérin is uncertain._] We have so much to say to each other! Let's talk about you first. GUÉRIN [_forced to sit down_]. About me? But I-- FRANÇOISE. Yes, about you. GUÉRIN [_quickly_]. No, about _your_ happiness, your welfare. FRANÇOISE. About my great happiness! GUÉRIN [_ironically_]. Let us speak about your--existence--with which you are so content. I must know all the happiness of this house! FRANÇOISE. Happy people never have anything to say. GUÉRIN. You never have troubles, I presume? FRANÇOISE. None, so far. GUÉRIN. But what might happen? To-day you are living peacefully with Marcel, a man whose marriage was, it seems, strongly opposed. Life owes you no more than it has already given you. FRANÇOISE. My happiness is complete. I had never imagined that a man's goodness could make a woman so happy! GUÉRIN. Goodness? FRANÇOISE. Of course! GUÉRIN. Love, you mean Madame! FRANÇOISE. Oh, Marcel's love for me--! GUÉRIN. Something lacking? FRANÇOISE. No! GUÉRIN [_interested_]. Tell me. Am I not your friend? FRANÇOISE. Seriously, Monsieur, you know him very well: how could he be in love with me? Is it even possible? He allows one to love him, and I ask nothing more. GUÉRIN. Nothing? FRANÇOISE. Only to be allowed to continue. [_Gesture from Guérin._] I am not like other women. I don't ask for rights; but I do demand tenderness, and consideration. He is free, I am not--I'll admit that. But I don't mind, I only hope that we may continue as we are! GUÉRIN. Have you some presentiment, Madame? FRANÇOISE. I am afraid, Monsieur. My happiness is not of the proud, demonstrative variety, it is a kind of happiness that is continually trembling for its safety. If I told you-- GUÉRIN. Do tell me! FRANÇOISE. Later! How I pity any one who loves and has to suffer for it! GUÉRIN [_surprised_]. You--! FRANÇOISE. I am not on the side of the jealous, of the betrayed-- GUÉRIN [_aside, sympathetically_]. Poor little woman! [_With great sincerity._] Then you are not sure of him? FRANÇOISE [_more and more excited_]. He is Marcel! Admit for a moment that he loves me to-day--I want so to believe it! To-morrow will he love me? Does he himself know whether he will love me then? Isn't he at the mercy of a whim, a passing fancy--of the weather, or the appearance of the first woman he happens to meet? I am only twenty, and I am not always as careful as I might be. Happiness is so difficult! GUÉRIN. Yes, it is. [_To himself._] It is! [_To Françoise._] Perhaps you are conscientious, too sincere?