eemed to me that the
Casino and its gorgeous gardens were veritably established on the
mysterious arched hollow, within the high cliff, from which death shot
out all day and every day. But I did recover perfectly. Only now do I
completely perceive how violent, how capricious and contradictory were
my emotions in those unique and unforgettable hours.

We dined late, because I had deprived myself of Yvonne. Already I was
almost in a mind to send for her. The restaurant of the hotel was full,
but we recognised no one as we walked through the room to our table.

'There is one advantage in travelling about with you,' said Frank.

'What is it?' I asked.

'No matter where one is, one can always be sure of being with the most
beautiful woman in the place.'

I was content. I repaid him by being more than ever a man's woman. I
knew that I was made for that. I understood why great sopranos have of
their own accord given up even the stage on marriage. The career of
literature seemed to me tedious and sordid in comparison with that of
being a man's woman. In my rich black dress and my rings and bracelets I
felt like an Eastern Empress; I felt that I could adequately reward
homage with smiles, and love with fervid love. And I felt like a
cat--idle, indolently graceful, voluptuously seeking warmth and
caresses. I enveloped Frank with soft glances, I dazed him with glances.
He ordered a wine which he said was fit for gods, and the waiter brought
it reverently and filled our glasses, with a ritual of precautions.
Later during the dinner Frank asked me if I would prefer champagne. I
said, 'No, of course not.' But he said, 'I think you would,' and ordered
some. 'Admit,' he said, 'that you prefer champagne.' 'Well, of course,'
I replied. But I drank very little champagne, lest I should be too
happy. Frank's wonderful face grew delicately flushed. The room
resounded with discreet chatter, and the tinkle of glass and silver and
porcelain. The upper part of it remained in shadow, but every table was
a centre of rosy light, illuminating faces and jewels and napery. And in
my sweet illusion I thought that every face had found the secret of joy,
and that even the old had preserved it. Pleasure reigned. Pleasure was
the sole goddess. And how satisfying then was the worship of her! Life
had no inconveniences, no dark spots, no pitfalls. The gratification of
the senses, the appeasing of appetites that instantly renewed
themselves--this was the