s and the jarring
of the cab. She looked at the houses, the pedestrians, people in cabs
and omnibuses, with a blank gaze that saw nothing; she thought of
nothing, as if she were giving herself time, granting herself a respite
before daring to reflect upon what had happened.

Then, as she had a practical mind and was not lacking in courage, she
said to herself: "I am a lost woman!" For some time she remained under
that feeling of certainty that irreparable misfortune had befallen her,
horror-struck, like a man fallen from a roof, knowing that his legs are
broken but dreading to prove it to himself.

But, instead of feeling overwhelmed by the anticipation of suffering,
her heart remained calm and peaceful after this catastrophe; it beat
slowly, softly, after the fall that had terrified her soul, and seemed
to take no part in the perturbation of her mind.

She repeated aloud, as if to understand and convince herself: "Yes, I am
a lost woman." No echo of suffering responded from her heart to this cry
of her conscience.

She allowed herself to be soothed for some time by the movement of the
carriage, putting off a little longer the necessity of facing this cruel
situation. No, she did not suffer. She was afraid to think, that was
all; she feared to know, to comprehend, and to reflect; on the contrary,
in that mysterious and impenetrable being created within us by the
incessant struggle between our desires and our will, she felt an
indescribable peace.

After perhaps half an hour of this strange repose, understanding at
last that the despair she had invoked would not come, she shook off her
torpor and murmured: "It is strange: I am hardly sorry even!"

Then she began to reproach herself. Anger awakened within her against
her own blindness and her weakness. How had she not foreseen this, not
comprehended that the hour for that struggle must come; that this man
was so dear to her as to render her cowardly, and that sometimes in
the purest hearts desire arises like a gust of wind, carrying the will
before it?

But, after she had judged and reprimanded herself severely, she asked
herself what would happen next?

Her first resolve was to break with the painter and never to see him
again. Hardly had she formed this resolution before a thousand reasons
sprang up as quickly to combat it. How could she explain such a break?
What should she say to her husband? Would not the suspected truth be
whispered, then spread abroad?