MME. B. No, no, _no_; we are not happy, because we have worn ourselves out hunting after happiness. We wanted to ‘get on,’ and we got on. But _what_ a price we paid for it! First, when we were both earning wages, our life was one long drudgery of petty economy and meanness. When we set up on our own account we lived in an atmosphere of trickery, of enmity, of lying; flattering the customers, and always in terror of bankruptcy. Oh, I know the road to fortune! It means tears, lies, envy, hate; one suffers—and one makes other people suffer. I’ve had to go through it: my children shan’t. We’ve only had two children: we meant only to have one. Having two we had to be doubly hard upon ourselves. Instead of a husband and wife helping one another, we have been partners spying upon one another; calling one another to account for every little expenditure or stupidity; and on our very pillows disputing about our business. That’s how we got rich; and now we can’t enjoy our money because we don’t know how to use it; and we aren’t happy because our old age is made bitter by the memories and the rancor left from the old bad days: because we have suffered too much and hated too much. My children shall not go through this. I endured it that they might be spared. Good-bye, madame. LUCIE. Good-bye. _Madame Bernin goes out. After a moment Lucie goes slowly to Annette’s door and opens it._ ANNETTE [_coming in_] You’ve been crying! It’s because I’m going away, isn’t it? Not because there’s anything in the way of—[_with increasing trouble_] Tell me, Lucie! LUCIE. You love him so much then? ANNETTE. If we were not to be married—I should die. LUCIE. No, you wouldn’t die. Think of all the girls who have said that: did they die? ANNETTE. Is there anything to prevent? LUCIE. No, no. ANNETTE. And when is it to be? Did you talk about that? LUCIE. What a state of excitement you are in! Annette, dear, you must try to control yourself a little. ANNETTE [_making an effort_] Yes. You’re right. I’m a little off my head. LUCIE. You are really. ANNETTE [_still controlling herself_] Well, tell me. What did Madame Bernin say? LUCIE. What a hurry you are in to leave me! You don’t care for me any more, then? ANNETTE [_gravely_] Ah, my dear! If I hadn’t you what would become of me! [_A silence_] But you’re telling me _nothing_. You don’t seem to be telling me the truth—you’re hiding something from me—there _is_ some difficulty, I’m certain of it. If there wasn’t you’d say there wasn’t, you wouldn’t put me off—you’d tell me what Madame Bernin said. LUCIE. Well—there is something. ANNETTE [_bursting into tears_] Oh, my God! LUCIE. You are both very young. It would be better to wait a little—a year—perhaps more. ANNETTE [_crying_] Wait—a year! LUCIE. Come, come, stop crying. There’s really no reason for all this. I am not quite pleased with you, Annette. You’re barely nineteen. If you waited to marry until you are twenty it would be no harm.