hey were strangers, and that in spite of all
appearances they did not see nor hear each other any more. They
conversed as best they could, but neither could yield to the other, and
each tried to conquer the other. And this terrible battle broke my
heart.

. . . . .

She understood his desire. She said plaintively, like a child at
fault:

"I am not feeling well."

Then, in a sudden change of mood, she gave herself up to love, offering
her whole self with her wounded woman's heart.

* * * * * * * * *

They rose and shook off the dream that had cast them to the ground.

He was as dejected as she. I bent over to catch what he was saying.

"If I had only known!" he breathed in a whisper.

Prostrated but more distrustful of each other with a crime between
them, they went slowly over to the grey window, cleansed by a streak of
twilight.

How much they were like themselves on the other evening. It /was/ the
other evening. Never had the impression been borne in upon me so
strongly that actions are vain and pass like phantoms.

The man was seized with a trembling. And, vanquished, despoiled of all
his pride, of all his masculine reserve, he no longer had the strength
to keep back the avowal of shamed regret.

"One can't master one's self," he stammered, hanging his head. "It is
fate."

They caught hold of each other's hands, shuddered slightly, panting,
dispirited, tormented by their hearts.

. . . . .

Fate!

In so speaking they saw further than the flesh. In their remorse and
disgust it was not mere physical disillusionment that so crushed them.
They saw further. They were overcome by an impression of bleak truth,
of aridity, of growing nothingness, at the thought that they had so
many times grasped, rejected, and vainly grasped again their frail
carnal ideal.

They felt that everything was fleeting, that everything wore out, that
everything that was not dead would die, and that even the illusory ties
holding them together would not endure. Their sadness did not bring
them together. On the contrary, they were separated by all the force
of their two sorrows. To suffer together, alas, what disunion!

And the condemnation of love itself came from her, in a cry of agony:

"Oh, our great, our immense love! I feel that little by little I am
recovering from it!"

. . . . .

She threw back her head, and raised her eyes.

"Oh, the first time!" she said.

She went on, while both of t