he wanted, thinking I would not dare
use violence in the presence of a third person. I released him, but so
roughly that he staggered back and fell against a tree. He clenched his
fist and turned away without a word.

For three weeks I suffered terribly. Three times a day I called at Madame
Pierson's and each time was refused admittance. I received one letter
from her; she said that my assiduity was causing talk in the village, and
begged me to call less frequently. Not a word about Mercanson or her
illness.

This precaution on her part was so unnatural, and contrasted so strongly
with her former proud indifference in matters of this kind, that at first
I could hardly believe it. Not knowing what else to say, I replied that
there was no desire in my heart but obedience to her wishes. But in spite
of me, the words I used did not conceal the bitterness I felt.

I purposely delayed going to see her even when permitted to do so, and no
longer sent to inquire about her condition, as I wished to have her know
that I did not believe in her illness. I did not know why she kept me at
a distance; but I was so miserably unhappy that, at times, I thought
seriously of putting an end to a life that had become insupportable. I
was accustomed to spend entire days in the woods, and one day I happened
to encounter her there.

I hardly had the courage to ask for an explanation; she did not reply
frankly, and I did not recur to the subject; I could only count the days
I was obliged to pass without seeing her, and live in the hope of a
visit. All the time I was sorely tempted to throw myself at her feet, and
tell her of my despair. I knew that she would not be insensible to it,
and that she would at least express her pity; but her severity and the
abrupt manner of her departure recalled me to my senses; I trembled lest
I should lose her, and I would rather die than expose myself to that
danger.

Thus denied the solace of confessing my sorrow, my health began to give
way. My feet lagged on the way to her house; I felt that I was exhausting
the source of tears, and each visit cost me added sorrow; I was torn with
the thought that I ought not to see her.

On her part there was neither the same tone nor the same ease as of old;
she spoke of going away on a tour; she pretended to confess to me her
longing to get away, leaving me more dead than alive after her cruel
words. If surprised by a natural impulse of sympathy, she immediately
chec