knew, too, who it was who dictated this thought to you; and now, since
I have made the personal acquaintance of this incomparable woman--no,
without sarcasm, which would be but childish defiance for one in my
situation--I understand perfectly that you would be willing to do
anything in order that you might throw yourself into such chains. But
to suppose that I, with my share of our common misfortune, as you call
it, will voluntarily step back and look on while you find happiness
according to your heart's desire--oh! you are excellent egotists, you
men!--but you should not be so _naive_ as to think it a crime if we,
too, sometimes think a little about ourselves!"

His old aversion arose again as he listened to this well-calculated,
passionate speech. But he forced himself to be quiet.

"I have never tried to conceal from you," said he, "that I am now more
desirous than ever before for an absolute separation, because I wish to
enter into a new marriage. If you thought it was for your interest to
hinder this, if you wished to prevent me from ever again becoming a
happy man, then this would be comprehensible on your part, although it
would betray but little pride. But you ought to know me better. You
ought to know that I am terribly in earnest when I say my submission to
the fate that binds us together is at an end. I can--I _shall_ never
consent to let the malicious defiance of a woman cheat myself and her
whom I love of our happiness in life. I am determined to do _anything_
which can set me free. Do you hear it? To do _anything_. And for that
reason I say to you: name your price! I know very well that your desire
to feel that I am in your power, and the triumph of seeing me drag a
piece of the chain after me is dear to you. But even dearer things have
their price. Name yours; I will buy off your hate and your malice,
though to do it I had to work like a day-laborer from morning until
late into the night."

"I don't imagine that will be necessary. Your sweetheart is rich, I
hear. But you are mistaken. I am not covetous. Give me the child, and I
will never have known the father."

"Woman!" he cried, his whole being lashed into fury by the trick which
he immediately detected--"You are--"

But he controlled himself. He sank down a chair near the sofa, and
said, in a tone as if he were communicating something of the greatest
indifference to her:

"Very good. You remain untouched by words or prayers. But let me tell
yo