Jeanne: You’re always reading, just like your father.
Sylvain: I know. You already told me. How did you meet my father?
Jeanne: Why do you ask that now?
Sylvain: I just read the word, “miracle,” and Aunt Fernande always said it was a miracle she met Jack.
Jeanne: Yes, he came in ’44 to liberate us. They tossed chewing gum and chocolates at us, and we threw flowers to them. I met your father after the Americans had left. I was living with my aunts, because my parents were dead. I went to the Bois de la Cambre with a girlfriend one Saturday. I don’t remember the weather. She knew him. You know who I mean. I’ve shown you her picture. So we began seeing each other. I was working as a billing clerk for horrible pay. Life with my aunts was dull. I didn’t feel like getting married, but it seemed to be “the thing to do,” as they say. My aunts kept saying, “He’s nice. He’s got money. He’ll make you happy.” But I still couldn’t decide. But I really wanted a life of my own, and a child. Then his business suddenly hit the rocks, so I married him. Things like that happened after the war. My aunts had changed their minds. They said a pretty girl like me could do better and find a man who’d give me a good life.  They said he was ugly and so on, but I didn’t listen.
Sylvain: If he was ugly, did you want to make love with him?
Jeanne: Ugly or not, it wasn’t all that important. Besides, “making love,” as you call it, is merely a detail. And I had you. And he wasn’t as ugly as all that.
Sylvain: Would you want to remarry?
Jeanne: No. Get used to someone else?
Sylvain: I mean someone you love.
Jeanne: Oh, you know. . .
Sylvain: Well, if I were a woman, I could never make love with someone I wasn’t deeply in love with.
Jeanne: How could you know? You’re not a woman.