"That is how it is. Shall I tell you something else?"
"What?"
"I wish devoutly you had never told me a word of--of the past."
"But how can you say such things? We have been honest with each other.
You yourself--"
"I know, I know, I have no right myself, and yet there it is. It is
something fearful, this madness of possession that comes to me. No, I
have no fear that I will not always be first in your heart, only I
understand the needs, the habits, of your nature. I understand myself
now as I have not before, and that's why I say to you solemnly,
Madeleine, if ever for a moment another man should come into your
life--never, never, let me know."
"But--"
"No, don't say anything that I may remember to torture me. Lie to me."
"I have never lied."
"Madeleine, it is better to be merciful than to tell the truth, and,
after all, what does such a confession mean? It only means that you free
your conscience and that the wound--the ache--remains with the other.
Whatever happens, never tell me. Do you understand?"
This time she made no answer.
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