Then followed arguments without beginning or end.  Harking back to the old troubles, Monsieur de Mortsauf repeated the nonsense of the peasantry against the new system of farming.  He declared that if he had had the management of Clochegourde he should be twice as rich as he now was.  He shouted these complaints and insults, he swore, he sprang around the room knocking against the furniture and displacing it; then in the middle of a sentence he stopped short, complained that his very marrow was on fire, his brains melting away like his money, his wife had ruined him!  The countess smiled and looked upward.

“Yes, Blanche,” he cried, “you are my executioner; you are killing me; I am in your way; you want to get rid of me; you are monster of hypocrisy.  She is smiling!  Do you know why she smiles, Felix?”

I kept silence and looked down.

“That woman,” he continued, answering his own question, “denies me all happiness; she is no more to me than she is to you, and yet she pretends to be my wife!  She bears my name and fulfils none of the duties which all laws, human and divine, impose upon her; she lies to God and man.  She obliges me to go long distances, hoping to wear me out and make me leave her to herself; I am displeasing to her, she hates me; she puts all her art into keeping me away from her; she has made me mad through the privations she imposes on me—­for everything flies to my poor head; she is killing me by degrees, and she thinks herself a saint and takes the sacrament every month!”

The countess was weeping bitterly, humiliated by the degradation of the man, to whom she kept saying for all answer, “Monsieur! monsieur! monsieur!”

Though the count’s words made me blush, more for him than for Henriette, they stirred my heart violently, for they appealed to the sense of chastity and delicacy which is indeed the very warp and woof of first love.

“She is virgin at my expense,” cried the count.

At these words the countess cried out, “Monsieur!”

“What do you mean with your imperious ‘Monsieur!’” he shouted.  “Am I not your master?  Must I teach you that I am?”

He came towards her, thrusting forward his white wolf’s head, now hideous, for his yellow eyes had a savage expression which made him look like a wild beast rushing out of a wood.  Henriette slid from her chair to the ground to avoid a blow, which however was not given; she lay at full length on the floor and lost consciousness, completely exhausted.  The count was like a murderer who feels the blood of his victim spurting in his face; he stopped short, bewildered.  I took the poor woman in my arms, and the count let me take her, as though he felt unworthy to touch her; but he went before me to open the door of her bedroom next the salon,—­a sacred room I had never entered.  I put the countess on her feet and held her for a moment in one arm, passing the other round her waist, while Monsieur de Mortsauf took the eider-down