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"
Hm
...
Hm
...
!
"
growled
Pierre
,
frowning
without
looking
at
her
,
and
not
moving
a
muscle
.
"
And
how
could
you
believe
he
was
my
lover
?
Why
?
Because
I
like
his
company
?
If
you
were
cleverer
and
more
agreeable
,
I
should
prefer
yours
.
"
"
Do
n't
speak
to
me
...
I
beg
you
,
"
muttered
Pierre
hoarsely
.
"
Why
should
n't
I
speak
?
I
can
speak
as
I
like
,
and
I
tell
you
plainly
that
there
are
not
many
wives
with
husbands
such
as
you
who
would
not
have
taken
lovers
(
des
amants
)
,
but
I
have
not
done
so
,
"
said
she
.
Pierre
wished
to
say
something
,
looked
at
her
with
eyes
whose
strange
expression
she
did
not
understand
,
and
lay
down
again
.
He
was
suffering
physically
at
that
moment
,
there
was
a
weight
on
his
chest
and
he
could
not
breathe
.
He
knew
that
he
must
do
something
to
put
an
end
to
this
suffering
,
but
what
he
wanted
to
do
was
too
terrible
.
"
We
had
better
separate
,
"
he
muttered
in
a
broken
voice
.
"
Separate
?
Very
well
,
but
only
if
you
give
me
a
fortune
,
"
said
Hélène
"
Separate
!
That
's
a
thing
to
frighten
me
with
!
"
Pierre
leaped
up
from
the
sofa
and
rushed
staggering
toward
her
.
"
I
'll
kill
you
!
"
he
shouted
,
and
seizing
the
marble
top
of
a
table
with
a
strength
he
had
never
before
felt
,
he
made
a
step
toward
her
brandishing
the
slab
.
