I know she has had several little love-affairs.
Just now she is alone.

She is alone, but she will soon be leaning--yes, phantom or reality, man is not far from her.

It is dazzling.

Most certainly, I no longer think as I used to do that it is a sort of duty to satisfy the selfish promptings one has, and I have now got an inward veneration for right-doing; but all the same, if that being came to me, I know well that I should become, before all, and in spite of all, an immense cry of delight.
Marie falls back upon her idea, obdurately, and says, "A woman only lives by love and for love.

When she's no longer good for that she's no longer anything." She repeats, "You see--I'm nothing any more." Ah, she is at the bottom of her abyss! She is at the extremity of a woman's mourning! She is not thinking only of me.