ntleman who has still the happiness of
being nursed by illusions."

As they did not fail to carry back to Mimi the way in which her ex-lover
received all these details, she on her part did not forget to reply,
shrugging her shoulders:

"That is all very well, you will see what will come of it in a day or
two."

However, Rodolphe was himself, and more than any one else, astonished at
this sudden indifference which, without passing through the usual
transitions of sadness and melancholy, had followed the stormy feelings
by which he had been stirred only a few days before. Forgetfulness, so
slow to come--above all for the virtues of love--that forgetfulness
which they summon so loudly and repulse with equal loudness when they
feel it approaching, that pitiless consoler that had all at once, and
without his being able to defend himself from it, invaded Rodolphe's
heart, and the name of the woman he so dearly loved could now be heard
without awakening any echo in it. Strange fact; Rodolphe, whose memory
was strong enough to recall to mind things that had occurred in the
farthest days of his past and beings who had figured in or influenced
his most remote existence--Rodolphe could not, whatever efforts he might
make, recall with clearness after four days' separation, the features of
that mistress who had nearly broken his life between her slender
fingers. He could no longer recall the softness of the eyes by the light
of which he had so often fallen asleep. He could no longer remember the
notes of that voice whose anger and whose caressing utterances had
alternately maddened him. A poet, who was a friend of his, and who had
not seen him since his absence, met him one evening. Rodolphe seemed
busy and preoccupied, he was walking rapidly along the street, twirling
his cane.

"Hallo," said the poet, holding out his hand, "so here you are," and he
looked curiously at Rodolphe. Seeing that the latter looked somewhat
downcast he thought it right to adopt a consoling tone.

"Come, courage, my dear fellow. I know that it is hard, but then it must
always have come to this. Better now than later on; in three months you
will be quite cured."

"What are you driving at?" said Rodolphe. "I am not ill, my dear
fellow."

"Come," said the other, "do not play the braggart. I know the whole
story and if I did not, I could read it in your face."

"Take care, you are making a mistake," said Rodolphe, "I am very much
annoyed this evenin