unending remorse. Madeleine went with
her mother, and the next day I heard that the countess had been seized
with nausea, caused, she said, by the violent excitements of that day.
Thus I, who longed to give my life for hers, I was killing her.

"Dear count," I said to Monsieur de Mortsauf, who obliged me to play
backgammon, "I think the countess very seriously ill. There is still
time to save her; pray send for Origet, and persuade her to follow his
advice."

"Origet, who half killed me?" cried the count. "No, no; I'll consult
Carbonneau."

During this week, especially the first days of it, everything was
anguish to me--the beginning of paralysis of the heart--my vanity was
mortified, my soul rent. One must needs have been the centre of all
looks and aspirations, the mainspring of the life about him, the torch
from which all others drew their light, to understand the horror of the
void that was now about me. All things were there, the same, but the
spirit that gave life to them was extinct, like a blown-out flame. I now
understood the desperate desire of lovers never to see each other again
when love has flown. To be nothing where we were once so much! To find
the chilling silence of the grave where life so lately sparkled!
Such comparisons are overwhelming. I came at last to envy the dismal
ignorance of all happiness which had darkened my youth. My despair
became so great that the countess, I thought, felt pity for it. One day
after dinner as we were walking on the meadows beside the river I made
a last effort to obtain forgiveness. I told Jacques to go on with his
sister, and leaving the count to walk alone, I took Henriette to the
punt.

"Henriette," I said; "one word of forgiveness, or I fling myself into
the Indre! I have sinned,--yes, it is true; but am I not like a dog in
his faithful attachments? I return like him, like him ashamed. If he
does wrong he is struck, but he loves the hand that strikes him; strike
me, bruise me, but give me back your heart."

"Poor child," she said, "are you not always my son?"

She took my arm and silently rejoined her children, with whom she
returned to Clochegourde, leaving me to the count, who began to talk
politics apropos of his neighbors.

"Let us go in," I said; "you are bare-headed, and the dew may do you an
injury."

"You pity me, my dear Felix," he answered; "you understand me, but my
wife never tries to comfort me,--on principle, perhaps."

Never would she ha