Its obscure beginning indicated sudden anguish and black suspicion:
"Therese, Therese, why did you give yourself to me if you were not giving
yourself to me wholly? How does it serve me that you have deceived me,
now that I know what I did not wish to know?"

She stopped; a veil came over her eyes. She thought:

"We were so happy a moment ago. What has happened? And I was so pleased
at his joy, when it had already gone; it would be better not to write,
since letters show only vanished sentiments and effaced ideas."

She read further. And seeing that he was full of jealousy, she felt
discouraged.

"If I have not proved to him that I love him with all my strength, that I
love him with all there is in me, how am I ever to persuade him of it?"

And she was impatient to discover the cause of his folly. Jacques told
it. While taking breakfast in the Rue Royale he had met a former
companion who had just returned from the seaside. They had talked
together; chance made that man speak of the Countess Martin, whom he
knew. And at once, interrupting the narration, Jacques exclaimed:
"Therese, Therese, why did you lie to me, since I was sure to learn some
day that of which I alone was ignorant? But the error is mine more than
yours. The letter which you put into the San Michele post-box, your
meeting at the Florence station, would have enlightened me if I had not
obstinately retained my illusions and disdained evidence.

"I did not know; I wished to remain ignorant. I did not ask you
anything, from fear that you might not be able to continue to lie;