Leon.--It depends on the wife.

Jadwiga.--Yes, but every word and every look is a bait. If the fish
passes the bait, the fisherman's self-love is wounded. That is why
they slander me (after a while). You great people--you are filled with
simplicity. Then you think it depends on the wife?

Leon.--Yes, it does.

Jadwiga.--_Morbleu!_ as my husband says, and if the wife is weary?

Leon.--I bid you good-bye.

Jadwiga.--Why? Does what I say offend you?

Leon.--It does more than offend me. It hurts me. Maybe it will
seem strange to you, but here in my breast I am carrying some
flowers--although they are withered--dead for a long time. But they
are dear to me and just now you are trampling on them.

Jadwiga (with an outburst).--Oh, if those flowers had not died!

Leon.--They are in my heart--and there is a tomb. Let us leave the
past alone.

Jadwiga.--Yes, you are right. Leave it alone. What is dead cannot
be resuscitated. I wish to speak calmly. Look at my situation. What
defends me--what helps me--what protects me? I am a young woman, and
it seems not ugly, and therefore no one approaches me with an honest,
simple heart, but with a trap in eyes and mouth. What opposition have