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It seemed to me that I felt on my shoulder the brand of a glowing iron and that I was marked with a burning stigma. The more I reflected, the more the darkness thickened about me. From time to time I turned my head and saw a cold smile or a curious glance. Desgenais did not leave me; he knew very well what he was doing, and saw that I might go to any lengths in my present desperate condition.
"No," I replied, "I have waltzed with her and wanted to know her name; I have no further interest in her." Shame led me to speak thus, but when Desgenais turned away I followed him. "You are very prompt," he said, "Marco is no ordinary woman. She was almost the wife of M. de , ambassador to Milan. One of his friends brought her here. Yet," he added, "you may rest assured I shall speak to her.
But when it comes I can do nothing against it. It takes me whither it pleases by whatever route seems good to it. When the woman had left, I sat up. "My friend," I said to myself, "behold what has been sent you. If Desgenais had not seen fit to send you his mistress he would not have been mistaken, perhaps, in supposing that you might fall in love with her. "Have you well considered it?
A word that is merited, positive, withering, at will. But why? It is still but a word. Can you kill a body with a word? "And if you love that body? Some one pours a glass of wine and says to you: 'Do not love that, for you can get four for six francs. And it may intoxicate you! "But Desgenais loves his mistress, since he keeps her; he must, therefore, have a peculiar fashion of loving?
"And a happy woman," I continued, "with a happy book." Desgenais understood me; he saw that a profound sadness had taken possession of me. He asked if I had some secret cause of sorrow. I hesitated, but did not reply. "My dear Octave," he said, "if you have any trouble, do not hesitate to confide in me. Speak freely and you will find that I am your friend!"
She breathed with an effort; twice a harsh sound came from her throat; a mortal pallor overspread her features and she dropped into her chair. Then came an uproar which lasted an hour. It was impossible to distinguish anything, either laughter, songs or cries. "What do you think of it?" asked Desgenais. "Nothing," I replied. "I have stopped my ears and am looking at it."
Such was the advice of Desgenais. I made my way home with swollen heart, my face concealed under my cloak. I kneeled at the side of my bed and my poor heart dissolved in tears. What vows! what prayers! Galileo struck the earth, crying: "Nevertheless it moves!" Thus I struck my heart. SUDDENLY, in the midst of greatest despair youth and chance led me to commit an act that decided my fate.
Of those who have done as I, few would say those words; all have them in their hearts; I have found no others in mine. Returning to Paris in the month of December, I passed the winter attending pleasure parties, masquerades, suppers, rarely leaving Desgenais, who was delighted with me: not so was I with him. The more I went about, the more unhappy I became.
A deep flush suffused my face and I felt the futility of my feint. Desgenais smiled. "Take care," said he, "take care, do not go too far." "But," I protested, "how did I know it, how could I know " Desgenais compressed his lips as if to say: "You knew enough." I stopped short, mumbling the remnant of my sentence. My blood became so hot that I could not continue.
Desgenais passed and asked what I was doing there. "Who is that woman?" I asked. "What woman? Of whom do you speak?" I took his arm and led him into the hall. The Italian saw us coming and smiled. I stopped and stepped back. "Ah!" said Desgenais, "you have danced with Marco?" "Who is Marco?" I asked. "Why, that idle creature who is laughing over there. Does she please you?"
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