assed confusedly, like a flight of dark
shadows, through his brain. That magical and malevolent abode, that
strange and prison-like palace, was it also in the plot? Gwynplaine
suffered a partial unconsciousness. Suppressed emotions threatened to
strangle him. He was weighed down by an overwhelming force. His will
became powerless. How could he resist? He was incoherent and entranced.
This time he felt he was becoming irremediably insane. His dark,
headlong fall over the precipice of stupefaction continued.

But the woman slept on.

What aggravated the storm within him was, that he saw not the princess,
not the duchess, not the lady, but the woman.

Gwynplaine, losing all self-command, trembled. What could he do against
such a temptation? Here were no skilful effects of dress, no silken
folds, no complex and coquettish adornments, no affected exaggeration of
concealment or of exhibition, no cloud. It was fearful simplicity--a
sort of mysterious summons--the shameless audacity of Eden. The whole of
the dark side of human nature was there. Eve worse than Satan; the human
and the superhuman commingled. A perplexing ecstasy, winding up in a
brutal triumph of instinct over duty. The sovereign contour of beauty is
imperious. When it leaves the ideal and condescends to be real, its
proximity is fatal to man.

Now and then the duchess moved softly on the bed, with the vague
movement of a cloud in the heavens, changing as a vapour changes its
form. Absurd as it may appear, though he saw her present in the flesh
before him, yet she seemed a chimera; and, palpable as she was, she
seemed to him afar off. Scared and livid, he gazed on. He listened for
her breathing, and fancied he heard only a phantom's respiration. He
was attracted, though against his will. How arm himself against her--or
against himself? He had been prepared for everything except this danger.
A savage doorkeeper, a raging monster of a jailer--such were his
expected antagonists. He looked for Cerberus; he saw Hebe. A sleeping
woman! What an opponent! He closed his eyes. Too bright a dawn blinds
the eyes. But through his closed eyelids there penetrated at once the
woman's form--not so distinct, but beautiful as ever.

Fly! Easier said than done. He had already tried and failed. He was
rooted to the ground, as if in a dream. When we try to draw back,
temptation clogs our feet and glues them to the earth. We can still
advance, but to retire is impossible. The invi