FRANÇOISE. I feel that; yes, I think I am, but every time I try to hide my affection from him, he becomes indifferent, almost mean--as if he were glad to be relieved of a duty--of being good! GUÉRIN. So it's come to that! FRANÇOISE. You see, Marcel can't get used to the idea that his other life is over, dead and buried, that he's married for good--that he must do as others do. I do my best and tell him, but my very presence only reminds him of his duties as a husband. For instance [_interrupting herself_]. Here I am telling you all this-- GUÉRIN. Oh!--Please. FRANÇOISE [_bitterly_]. He likes to go out alone at night, without me. He knows me well enough to understand that his being away makes me very unhappy, and as a matter of form, of common courtesy, he asks me to go with him. I try to reason and convince myself that he doesn't mean what he says, but I can't help feeling sincerely happy when once in a while I do accept his invitation. But the moment we leave the house I realize my mistake. Then he pretends to be in high spirits, but I know all the time he is acting a part; and when we come home again he lets drop without fail some hint about having lost his liberty; he says he took me out in a moment of weakness, that he really wanted to be alone. GUÉRIN [_interrupting_]. And when he does go out alone? FRANÇOISE. Then I am most unhappy; I'm in torment for hours and hours. I wonder where he can be, and then I'm afraid he won't come back at all. When the door opens, when I hear him come in, I'm so happy I pay no attention to what he tells me. But I made a solemn vow never to show the least sign of jealousy. My face is always tranquil, and what I say to him never betrays what I feel. I never knowingly betray myself, but his taking way, his tenderness, soon make me confess every fear; then he turns round and, using my own confession as a weapon, shows me how wrong I am to be afraid and suspicious. And when sometimes I say nothing to him, even when he tries to make me confess, he punishes me most severely by telling me stories of his affairs, narrow escapes, and all his temptations. He once told me about an old mistress of his, whom he had just seen, a very clever woman, who was never jealous! Or else he comes in so late that I must be glad, for if he came in later, it would have been all night! He tells me he had some splendid opportunity, and had to give it up! A thousand things like that! He seems to delight in making me suspect and doubt him! GUÉRIN. Poor little woman! FRANÇOISE. That's my life; as for my happiness, it exists from day to day. [_With determination._] If I only had the right to be unhappy! But I must always smile, I must be happy, not only in his presence, but to the very depths of my soul! So that he may deceive me without the least remorse! It is his pleasure! [_She bursts into tears._] GUÉRIN [_rising_]. The selfish brute! FRANÇOISE. Isn't my suffering a reproach to him?