“ Why should you be?” said Lilly.
“ Yes—and it is not even happiness,” said the Marchese, screwing up his face in a painful effort of confession. “It is not even happiness. No, I do not ask to be happy. Why should I? It is childish—but there is for both of us, I know it, something which bites us, which eats us within, and drives us, drives us, somewhere, we don't know where. But it drives us, and eats away the life—and yet we love each other, and we must not separate—Do you know what I mean? Do you understand me at all in what I say? I speak what is true.”
“ Yes, I understand. I'm in the same dilemma myself.—But what I want to hear, is WHY you think it is so. Why is it?”
“ Shall I say what I think? Yes? And you can tell me if it is foolish to you.—Shall I tell you? Well. Because a w
