I returned the letter, saying: 

“My poor Gaston, you are getting bored down here.  Let us go back to Paris, won’t you?”

“To Paris?” he said.  “But why?  I only wanted to find out if I had any gift, to taste the flowing bowl of success!”

Nothing would be easier than for me to ransack the drawer sometime while he is working and pretend great surprise at finding the money gone.  But that would be going half-way to meet the answer, “Oh! my friend So-and-So was hard up!” etc., which a man of Gaston’s quick wit would not have far to seek.

The moral, my dear, is that the brilliant success of this play, which all Paris is crowding to see, is due to us, though the whole credit goes to Nathan.  I am represented by one of the two stars in the legend:  Et M * *.  I saw the first night from the depths of one of the stage boxes.

July 1st.

Gaston’s work and his visits to Paris shall continue.  He is preparing new plays, partly because he wants a pretext for going to Paris, partly in order to make money.  Three plays have been accepted, and two more are commissioned.

Oh! my dear, I am lost, all is darkness around me.  I would set fire to the house in a moment if that would bring light.  What does it all mean?  Is he ashamed of taking money from me?  He is too high-minded for so trumpery a matter to weigh with him.  Besides, scruples of the kind could only be the outcome of some love affair.  A man would take anything from his wife, but from the woman he has ceased to care for, or is thinking of deserting, it is different.  If he needs such large sums, it must be to spend them on a woman.  For himself, why should he hesitate to draw from my purse?  Our savings amount to one hundred thousand francs!

In short, my sweetheart, I have explored a whole continent of possibilities, and after carefully weighing all the evidence, am convinced I have a rival.  I am deserted—­for whom?  At all costs I must see the unknown.

July 10th.

Light has come, and it is all over with me.  Yes, Renee, at the age of thirty, in the perfection of my beauty, with all the resources of a ready wit and the seductive charms of dress at my command, I am betrayed—­and for whom?  A large-boned Englishwoman, with big feet and thick waist—­a regular British cow!  There is no longer room for doubt.  I will tell you the history of the last few days.

Worn out with suspicions, which were fed by Gaston’s guilty silence (for, if he had helped a friend, why keep it a secret from me?), his insatiable desire for money, and his frequent journeys to Paris; jealous too of the work from which he seemed unable to tear himself, I at last made up my mind to take certain steps, of such a degrading nature that I cannot tell you about them.  Suffice it to say that three days ago I ascertained that Gaston, when in Paris, visits a house in the Rue de la Ville l’Eveque, where he guards his mistress with jealous mystery, unexampled in Paris.  The porter was surly, and I could get little out of him, but that little was enough to put an end to any lingering hope, and with hope to life.  On this point my mind was resolved, and I only waited to learn the whole truth first.