tive chat with this woman I felt at
the bottom of my soul an unconquerable aversion toward her, indeed
something almost like a secret horror of her--as if a presentiment were
warning me who it was that sat opposite me. But a demon drove me on to
play to the end of the _role_ I had once undertaken, for, as I
persuaded myself--mad fool that I was!--my _honor_ was at stake! Never
was a victory more dearly bought, never did a man who thought to
triumph feel himself so lost and degraded in his own sight as I did in
that hellish hour. Had I strangled this woman in a fit of blind
passion, it would not have so degraded me as this impudent comedy.

"And the wretched woman felt that I could not, do what I would, carry
out the _role_ of a favored lover;--the suspicion dawned upon her in
what light I must appear to myself and she to me. Horror, hate, and
resentment toward me, and perhaps also shame and self-reproach,
suddenly overpowered her with such force that she burst into a storm of
tears; and when I, in compassionate surprise, attempted to approach
her, she thrust me back with a violent gesture of disgust, and
immediately afterward fell into a fainting-fit that seemed almost like
death.

"That night I passed probably the most painful hours of my life, in
awkward attempts to bring her back to consciousness. I did not dare to
call for assistance for fear of compromising her. When at last she
opened her eyes again I saw that the most forbearing thing I could do
would be to leave her without saying farewell.

"I found no sleep that night. I cursed the hour in which I had seen
this woman, my childish defiance and my profligate obstinacy. In vain I
endeavored to comfort myself with the thought that I had pretended no
deep feeling toward her, that I had received no more from her than I
had returned. The feeling of abhorrence, disgust, and self-contempt
would not be reasoned away--and now to-day I am almost tempted to
believe there was something mysterious about the whole affair: an
indefinite horror of the guilt toward my dearest friend, with which I
had laden my soul.

"The following day I staid at home and saw no one. Not because I was
afraid of meeting her again; for it never entered my thoughts that she
would take a step across her threshold, lest she should encounter my
gaze. In this respect, however, I found myself deceived. She actually
made her appearance on the beach, about noon, as beautiful and
unembarrassed as ever;