o.

A smell of rotting and decay met his nostrils: as if, from the
thousands of leaves, mouldering under the trees on which they had once
hung, some invisible hand had set free thousands of odours, there
mounted to him, as he lay, all that rich and humid earthiness that
belongs to sunless places. And for a time, he was conscious of little
else but this morbid fragrance.

An open brawl! He had struck a man in the face before a crowd of
onlookers, and had as good as been ejected from their midst. From now
on, he was an outcast from orderly society, was branded as one who was
not wholly responsible for his actions--he, Maurice Guest, who had ever
been so chary of committing himself. What made the matter seem still
blacker, too, in his own eyes, was the fact of Krafft having once been
his intimate, personal friend. Now, he could never even think of him
again, without, at the same time, seeing the mark of his hand on
Krafft's cheek. If the blow had remained invisible, it might have been
more easily forgotten; but he had seen it, as it were, taken shape
before him.--Or, had it only been returned, it would have helped to
lessen the weight of his present abasement--oh, he would have given all
he had to have felt a return blow on his own face! Even the smallest
loss of selfcontrol on the part of Krafft would have been enough. But
the latter was too proud to give himself away gratuitously: he
preferred to take his revenge in the more unconventional fashion of
leaving his friend to bear the ignominy alone.

Maurice lay stabbing himself with these and similar thoughts. Only
little by little did the tumult that had been roused in him abate.
Then, and just the more vividly for the break in his memory, the gross
words Krafft had said, came back to him. Recalling them, he felt an
intense bitterness against Louise. She was the cause of all his
sufferings; were it not for her, he might still be leading a quiet,
decent life. It was her doing that he was compelled to part, bit by
bit, with his selfrespect. Not once, in all the months they had been
together, had the smallest good come to him through her. Nothing but
misery.

Now, he had no further rest where he was. He must go to her, and tax
her with it, repeat what Krafft had said, to her very face. She should
suffer, too--and the foretasted anguish and pleasure of hot
recriminations dulled all other feelings in him.

He rose, chilled to the bone from his exposure; one hand, which h