h a strange sensation in the mornings
that it is impossible for me to define it. I awakened without a motive,
feeling like a man who has spent the night in eating and drinking to
the point of exhaustion. All external sensations caused me insupportable
fatigue, all well-known objects of daily life repelled and annoyed
me; if I spoke it was in ridicule of what others thought or of what
I thought myself. Then, extended on the bed, as if incapable of any
motion, I dismissed any thought of undertaking whatever had been agreed
upon the evening before; I recalled all the tender and loving things I
had said to my mistress during my better moments, and was not satisfied
until I had spoiled and poisoned those memories of happy days. "Can you
not forget all that?" Brigitte would sadly inquire, "if there are two
different men in you, can you not, when the bad rouses himself, forget
the good?"

The patience with which Brigitte opposed these vagaries only served to
excite my sinister gayety. Strange that the man who suffers wishes to
make her whom he loves suffer! To lose control of one's self, is that
not the worst of evils? Is there anything more cruel for a woman than to
hear a man turn to derision all that is sacred and mysterious? Yet she
did not flee from me; she remained at my side, while in my savage humor
I insulted love and allowed insane ravings to escape from lips that were
still moist with her kisses.

On such days, contrary to my usual inclination, I liked to talk of Paris
and speak of my life of debauchery as the most commendable thing in the
world. "You are nothing but a saint," I would laughingly observe; "you
do not understand what I say. There is nothing like those careless ones
who make love without believing in it." Was that not the same as saying
that I did not believe in it?

"Very well," Brigitte replied, "teach me how to please you always. I
am perhaps as pretty as those mistresses whom you mourn; if I have not
their skill to divert you, I beg that you will instruct me. Act as if
you did not love me, and let me love you without saying anything about
it. If I am devoted to religion, I am also devoted to love. What can I
do to make you believe it?"

Then she would stand before the mirror arraying herself as if for a
soiree, affecting a coquetry that she was far from feeling, trying
to adopt my tone, laughing and skipping about the room. "Am I to your
taste?" she would ask. "Which one of your mistresses do I