LUCIE. Annette! Where have you been? ANNETTE. I have been to see Jacques Bernin. LUCIE. You have seen him? You have spoken to him? ANNETTE. I went to his father’s house. LUCIE. Well? ANNETTE. There is no hope. LUCIE. What did they say to you? ANNETTE. I oughtn’t ever to tell anyone about the two hours I have just lived through. It’s too shameful. Too vile. What I can’t believe is that all that really happened to _me_, and that I am alive still. LUCIE [_tenderly_] Tell me all about it. ANNETTE. What’s the good of my telling you? It’s all over. There’s nothing left. He didn’t love me: he never loved me. He’s gone. He’s going to marry another woman. LUCIE. He’s _gone_? ANNETTE. He went this evening. They all went. M. and Madame Bernin and Gabrielle dined at the station; Jacques dined at a restaurant with some friends. I went there. I sent up for him. From where I was standing, in the vestibule, I heard their jokes when the waiter gave him my message. LUCIE [_in gentle reproach_] Annette! ANNETTE. I wanted to know. I was certain his people were taking him away by force, and I was making excuses for him. I was certain he loved me. I should have laughed if anyone had told me he wouldn’t be horrified when he heard what had happened to me. I thought that when he knew, he’d take my hand, and go with me to his people, and say ‘Whether you wish it or not, here is my wife.’ As I was sure it would end like that, I thought it was better it should be over at once. I expected to come back here to beg your pardon—to kiss you and comfort you. LUCIE. And what did he say? ANNETTE [_without listening_] I think I’ve gone mad. All _that_ happened, and I’m here. I’m quiet: I’m not crying: it’s as if I was paralysed. LUCIE. You said you sent a message to him at the restaurant? ANNETTE. Yes. LUCIE. Did he come? ANNETTE. Yes. He said he thought some chorus-girl wanted him. LUCIE. Oh! And when he found it was you? ANNETTE. He took me out into the street for fear I should be recognized, and I had to explain it to him in the street. [_A pause_]. People passing by stared at us, and some of them laughed. [_With passion and pain_] Oh! if I only had no memory! LUCIE. Tell me, darling, tell me. ANNETTE [_with violence_] Oh, I’ll tell you. You’ll despise me a little more; but what can that matter to me now? First he pretended not to understand me: he forced me to say it quite plainly: he did it on purpose—either to torture me, or to give himself time to think. You’ll never guess what he said—that it wasn’t true. LUCIE. Oh!