But he went on: "I imagine that it's not illness, but your condition.
When will it be?" The ironical light died away in her eyes, but a different smile, a consciousness of something, he did not know what, and of quiet melancholy, came over her face.
"Soon, soon.
You say that our position is miserable, that we must put an end to it.
If you knew how terrible it is to me, what I would give to be able to love you freely and boldly! I should not torture myself and torture you with my jealousy....