X (Thoughtfully). Our acquaintance has been so queer. When I saw you for the first time I was afraid of you, so afraid that I didn't dare let you out of my sight; no matter when or where, I always found myself near you--I didn't dare have you for an enemy, so I became your friend. But there was always discord when you came to our house, because I saw that my husband couldn't endure you, and the whole thing seemed as awry to me as an ill-fitting gown--and I did all I could to make him friendly toward you, but with no success until you became engaged. Then came a violent friendship between you, so that it looked all at once as though you both dared show your real feelings only when you were secure--and then--how was it later? I didn't get jealous--strange to say! And I remember at the christening, when you acted as godmother, I made him kiss you--he did so, and you became so confused--as it were; I didn't notice it then--didn't think about it later, either--have never thought about it until--now! (Rises suddenly.) Why are you silent? You haven't said a word this whole time, but you have let me go on talking! You have sat there, and your eyes have reeled out of me all these thoughts which lay like raw silk in its cocoon--thoughts--suspicious thoughts, perhaps. Let me see--why did you break your engagement? Why do you never come to our house any more? Why won't you come to see us tonight? (Mlle. Y. appears as if about to speak.)

Mme Monologue from The Father

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