You see, I'm too young for you, for you are
finding fault with me already for talking foolishly! I can't have more
sense than belongs to my years."
"Alas! _mon Dieu_! how I deserve to be pitied for being so awkward and
for my ill-success in saying what I think! Marie, you don't love me,
that's the fact; you think I am too simple and too dull. If you loved me
a little, you wouldn't see my defects so plainly. But you don't love me,
you see!"
"Well, it isn't my fault," she replied, a little wounded by his dropping
the familiar form of address he had hitherto used; "I do the best I can
while I listen to you, but the harder I try, the less able I am to make
myself believe that we ought to be husband and wife."
Germain did not reply. He hid his face in his hands and it was
impossible for little Marie to tell whether he was crying or sulking or
asleep. She was a little disturbed to see him so depressed, and to be
unable to divine what was going on in his mind; but she dared say no
more to him, and as she was too much astonished by what had taken place
to have any desire to go to sleep again, she waited impatiently for
daybreak, continuing to keep up the fire and watching the child, whom
Germain seemed to have forgotten. Germain, meanwhile, was not asleep; he
was not reflecting on his lot, nor was he devising any bold stroke, or
any plan of seduction.
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