on circlet, and what a sigh
escaped me when it was gone.

"Ah! poor wounds!" I said, "you will soon heal, but what balm is there
for that other deeper wound?"

I had reason to hate this woman; she was, so to speak, mingled with the
blood of my veins; I cursed her, but I dreamed of her. What could I do
with a dream? By what effort of the will could I drown a memory of flesh
and blood? Lady Macbeth, having killed Duncan, saw that the ocean would
not wash her hands clean again; it would not have washed away my wounds.
I said to Desgenais: "When I sleep, her head is on my pillow."

My life had been wrapped up in this woman; to doubt her was to doubt
all; to deny her, to curse all; to lose her, to renounce all. I no
longer went out; the world seemed peopled with monsters, with horned
deer and crocodiles. To all that was said to distract my mind, I
replied:

"Yes, that is all very well, but you may rest assured I shall do nothing
of the kind."

I sat in my window and said:

"She will come, I am sure of it; she is coming, she is turning the
corner at this moment, I can feel her approach. She can no more live
without me than I without her. What shall I say? How shall I receive
her?"

Then the thought of her perfidy occurred to me.

"Ah! let her come! I will kill her!"

Since my last letter I had heard nothing of her.

"What is she doing?" I asked myself. "She loves another? Then I will
love another also. Whom shall I love?"

While thinking, I heard a far distant voice crying:

"Thou, love another? Two beings who love, who embrace, and who are not
thou and I! Is such a thing possible? Are you a fool?"

"Coward!" said Desgenais, "when will you forget that woman? Is she such
a great loss? Take the first comer and console yourself."

"No," I replied, "it is not such a great loss. Have I not done what I
ought? Have I not driven her away from here? What have you to say to
that? The rest concerns me; the bull wounded in the arena can lie down
in a corner with the sword of the matador 'twixt his shoulders, and die
in peace. What can I do, tell me? What do you mean by first comer? You
will show me a cloudless sky, trees and houses, men who talk, drink,
sing, women who dance and horses that gallop. All that is not life, it
is the noise of life. Go, go, leave me in peace."

CHAPTER V. A PHILOSOPHER'S ADVICE

Desgenais saw that my despair was incurable, that I would neither listen
to any advice nor leave my room,