umped from my bed with a cry of pain;
I could walk only on my heels, the nerves in my toes were so irritated. I
passed an hour in this way, completely beside myself, and stiff as a
skeleton. It was the first burst of passion I had ever experienced.

The man I had surprised with my mistress was one of my most intimate
friends. I went to his house the next day, in company with a young lawyer
named Desgenais; we took pistols, another witness, and repaired to the
woods of Vincennes. On the way I avoided speaking to my adversary or even
approaching him; thus I resisted the temptation to insult or strike him,
a useless form of violence at a time when the law recognized the code.
But I could not remove my eyes from him. He was the companion of my
childhood, and we had lived in the closest intimacy for many years. He
understood perfectly my love for my mistress, and had several times
intimated that bonds of this kind were sacred to a friend, and that he
would be incapable of an attempt to supplant me, even if he loved the
same woman. In short, I had perfect confidence in him and I had perhaps
never pressed the hand of any human creature more cordially than his.

Eagerly and curiously I scrutinized this man whom I had heard speak of
love like an antique hero and whom yet I had caught caressing my
mistress. It was the first time in my life I had seen a monster; I
measured him with a haggard eye to see what manner of man was this. He
whom I had known since he was ten years old, with whom I had lived in the
most perfect friendship, it seemed to me I had never seen him. Allow me a
comparison.

There is a Spanish play, familiar to all the world, in which a stone
statue comes to sup with a profligate, sent thither by divine justice.
The profligate puts a good face on the matter and forces himself to
affect indifference; but the statue asks for his hand, and when he has
extended it he feels himself seized by a mortal chill and falls in
convulsions.

Whenever I have loved and confided in any one, either friend or mistress,
and suddenly discover that I have been deceived, I can only describe the
effect produced on me by comparing it to the clasp of that marble hand.
It is the actual impression of marble, it is as if a man of stone had
embraced me. Alas! this horrible apparition has knocked more than once at
my door; more than once we have supped together.

When the arrangements were all made we placed ourselves in line, facing
each