on about him of something primitive, untamed, causing
her always in his presence that faint, compelling thrill of fear, who
stirred her blood as none of the polished men of her own class had ever
done. His kind, strong, ugly face: it moved beside her: its fearless,
tender eyes now pleading, now commanding.

He needed her. She heard his passionate, low voice, as she had heard it
in the little garden above Meudon: "Because you won't be there; and
without you I can do nothing." What right had this poor, worn-out shadow
to stand between them, to the end? Had love and life no claims, but only
weakness? She had taken all, had given nothing. It was but reparation
she was making. Why stop her?

She was alone in a maze of narrow, silent streets that ended always in a
high blank wall. It seemed impossible to get away from this blank wall.
Whatever way she turned she was always coming back to it.

What was she to do? Drag the woman back to life against her will--lead
her back to him to be a chain about his feet until the end? Then leave
him to fight the battle alone?

And herself? All her world had been watching and would know. She had
counted her chickens before they were dead. She had set her cap at the
man, reckoning him already widowed; and his wife had come to life and
snatched it from her head. She could hear the laughter--the half amused,
half contemptuous pity for her "rotten bad luck." She would be their
standing jest, till she was forgotten.

What would life leave to her? A lonely lodging and a pot of ink that she
would come to hate the smell of. She could never marry. It would be but
her body that she could give to any other man. Not even for the sake of
her dreams could she bring herself to that. It might have been possible
before, but not now. She could have won the victory over herself, but
for hope, that had kindled the smouldering embers of her passion into
flame. What cunning devil had flung open this door, showing her all her
heart's desire, merely that she should be called upon to slam it to in
her own face?

A fierce anger blazed up in her brain. Why should she listen? Why had
reason been given to us if we were not to use it--weigh good and evil in
the balance and decide for ourselves where lay the nobler gain? Were we
to be led hither and thither like blind children? What was right--what
wrong, but what our own God-given judgment told us? Was it wrong of the
woman to perform th