once more. Pardon me, Adolphe! [She puts her hand against his
cheek.]

ADOLPHE. You are always wrong in your talk and right in your
actions. What you really think--that I don't know.

HENRIETTE. Who does know that kind of thing?

MAURICE. Well, if we had to answer for our thoughts, who could
then clear himself?

HENRIETTE. Do you also have evil thoughts?

MAURICE. Certainly; just as I commit the worst kind of cruelties
in my dreams.

HENRIETTE. Oh, when you are dreaming, of course--Just think of it-
-No, I am ashamed of telling--

MAURICE. Go on, go on!

HENRIETTE. Last night I dreamt that I was coolly dissecting the
muscles on Adolphe's breast--you see, I am a sculptor--and he,
with his usual kindness, made no resistance, but helped me instead
with the worst places, as he knows more anatomy than I.

MAURICE. Was he dead?

HENRIETTE. No, he was living.