to depart, a sort of lassitude overpowered
him; he felt the inert sensation of a wounded man who has not the
strength to move, and he remained where he was, sadly and bitterly
wondering at times if he should not appeal to the courts, dissolve his
marriage, and demand back his name from the one who had stolen it.

Appeal to the courts? The idea of doing that was repugnant to him. What!
to hear the proud and stainless name of the Zilahs resound, no longer
above the clash of sabres and the neighing of furious horses, but within
the walls of a courtroom, and in presence of a gaping crowd of sensation
seekers? No! silence was better than that; anything was better than
publicity and scandal. Divorce! He could obtain that, since Marsa, her
mind destroyed, was like one dead. And what would a divorce give him?
His freedom? He had it already. But what nothing could give back, was
his ruined faith, his shattered hopes, his happiness lost forever.

At times he had a wild desire to see Marsa again, and vent once more
upon her his anger and contempt. When he happened to see the name of
Maisons-Lafitte, his body tingled from head to foot, as by an electric
shock. Maisons! The sunlit garden, the shaded alleys, the glowing
parterres of flowers, the old oaks, the white-walled villa, all appeared
before him, brutally distinct, like a lost, or rather poisoned, Eden!
And, besides, she, Marsa, was no longer there; and the thought that the
woman whom he had so passionately loved, with her exquisite, flower-like
face, was shut up among maniacs at Vaugirard, caused him the acutest
agony. The asylum which was Marsa's prison was so constantly in his mind
that he felt the necessity of flight, in order not to allow his weakness
to get the bettor of him, lest he should attempt to see Marsa again.

"What a coward I am!" he thought.

One evening he announced to Varhely that he was going to the lonely
villa of Sainte-Adresse, where they had so many times together watched
the sea and talked of their country.

"I am going there to be alone, my dear Yanski," he said, "but to be with
you is to be with myself. I hope that you will accompany me."

"Most certainly," replied Varhely.

The Prince took only one domestic, wishing to live as quietly and
primitively as possible; but Varhely, really alarmed at the rapid change
in the Prince, and the terrible pallor of his face, followed him, hoping
at least to distract him and arouse him from his morbidness by