ing I was lying a
hundred fathoms under the earth, and Edwin was sitting in my place.
Then I was angry with myself that I could be so impartial, so terribly
just, instead of looking at her with jealous rage and anger, for which
I really had good cause. 'She has come to triumph over you,' cried a
voice in my soul. 'She wants to outshine you, to tear him away from you
before your eyes, and you sit beside her and all you feel is a sense of
inexpressible sorrow.' I was beginning to hate myself, that I could
offer no better resistance to this magic. Then, without the slightest
pretext, she suddenly began to talk of my husband, inquired about him
like a perfect stranger, who had only seen him casually, and read more
things about him than by him. I don't know how it was--I ought to have
been too proud to speak of him, at least as I did, as we only pour out
to an intimate friend the deepest feelings of the heart about a person
we love. But I probably thought I owed it to myself, to show that I was
well aware what I had possessed and must lose in him. So I said just
what came into my mind, and she sat nodding silently, without uttering
a syllable, until I had talked myself in to an excited mood, and
suddenly paused with some commonplace apology. My heart throbbed almost
to bursting. The bitter anguish of the fact that we should be on such
terms, suddenly burst upon me. God knows what I was about to say, when
she rose, drew off her glove, and held out her hand, which in my
bewilderment I actually took. 'Thank you,' said she. 'How much I should
like to stay longer, for I see we understand each other in many things.
But I must go, or I shall be missed. Farewell, dear wife, may you be
happy. Think often--'

"She was about to add something, but her voice failed. Suddenly I felt
her throw her arms around me and press her beautiful lips three times
to mine; then before I could collect my thoughts, she had hurried out
of the room and I was alone with my shame and astonishment.

"No, precisely because she is better than I thought, I must make room
for her. I know now, for I have experienced it myself--he who has once
seen her can never forget her again; he whom she has once kissed, must
be her slave. But to be _her_ slave would cause no pain, while other
chains--No, no, he shall not bear this burden. I will go away, will not
play the base, unworthy part of a third person, who is merely
tolerated, secretly wished dead a thousand times. B