"Resigned? I don't even know what the word means. No: I set my teeth and
I hate the illness which makes me suffer."

He asked her if she had no one to see her, no one to look after her. She
said that her comrades at the theater were kind enough,--idiots,--but
obliging and compassionate (in a superficial sort of way).

"But I tell you, I don't want to see them. I'm a surly sort of
customer."

"I would put up with it," he said.

She looked at him pityingly:

"You, too! You're going to talk like the rest?"

He said:

"Pardon, pardon.... Good Heavens! I'm becoming a Parisian! I am
ashamed.... I swear that I didn't even think what I was saying...."

He buried his face in the bedclothes. She laughed frankly, and gave him
a tap on the head!

"Ah! that's not Parisian! That's something like! I know you again. Come,
show your face. Don't weep all over my bed."

"Do you forgive me?"

"I forgive you. But don't do it again."