ad seethed within him so long, he relieved his heart:

"Ah, damn it all, you have now been sticking on to me for a long time in
spite of myself, and the best thing for you now is to take yourself off.
I'll be much obliged if you do so, upon my honor!"

She did not answer him, but her livid countenance began to look
shriveled up, as if all her nerves and muscles had been twisted out of
shape. And she went away without saying good-bye.

The same night she poisoned herself.

For a week she was believed to be in a hopeless condition. And in the
city people gossiped about the case, and pitied her, excusing her sin on
account of the violence of her passion, for overstrained emotions,
becoming heroic through their intensity, always obtain forgiveness for
whatever is blameworthy in them. A woman who kills herself is, so to
speak, not an adulteress. And ere long there was a feeling of general
reprobation against Lieutenant Renoldi for refusing to see her again--a
unanimous sentiment of blame.

It was a matter of common talk that he had deserted her, betrayed her,
ill-treated her. The Colonel, overcome by compassion, brought his
officer to book in a quiet way. Paul d'Henricol called on his friend:

"Deuce take it, Renoldi, it's not good enough to let a woman die; it's
not the right thing anyhow."

The other, enraged, told him to hold his tongue, whereupon d'Henricol
made use of the word "infamy." The result was a duel, Renoldi was
wounded, to the satisfaction of everybody, and was for some time
confined to his bed.

She heard about it, and only loved him the more for it, believing that
it was on her account he had fought the duel; but, as she was too ill to
move, she was unable to see him again before the departure of the
regiment.

He had been three months in Lille when he received one morning, a visit
from the sister of his former mistress.

After long suffering and a feeling of dejection, which she could not
conquer, Madame Poincot's life was now despaired of, and she merely
asked to see him for a minute, only for a minute, before closing her
eyes for ever.

Absence and time had appeased the young man's satiety and anger; he was
touched, moved to tears, and he started at once for Havre.

She seemed to be in the agonies of death. They were left alone together;
and by the bedside of this woman whom he now believed to be dying, and
whom he blamed himself for killing, though it was not by his own hand,
he was fairly