and held her in his arms, kissing her temple, her hair, her cheeks. She kept her eyes hidden.
"I hate you," she murmured once softly.
"Do you, dearest?" he said, a little drearily.
Then her arms went round his neck, and she laid her wet cheek to his.
"No, not you, but life. I only wanted to be left alone. I was so happy with you. And now all will be different, if this is true—we can never be the same. And I shall be ugly, and you will stop caring for me"
"I shall love you more than ever. I didn't think it possible, but I shall. You're not sorry you married me, are you?"
"'Que le bonheur passe vite, mon Dieu, qu'il passe vite, et quant on souffre en y pensant plus tard!'" murmured Teresa.
"Don't, you silly child. Be brave, Teresa; you won't regret in the end"
"How do you know? I don't want to be brave, I want to be happy. I don't want responsibilities, I don't want to be tied down—I want nothing but you. I hate babies."
"You won't, if you have one of your own. It will be better for you in the end, for us both, for our relation. I'm sure it will—it's natural and right"
"Don't preach. I don't want it."
"You don't want anything till you get it. You didn't want me, but you're not sorry, are you?"
