“Nay, no more of that.”

With these words she made an effort, escaped from my hands, and fled from the room.  I was covered with shame and regret, and could not sleep.  I hated myself, for I knew not whether I had sinned most grievously in seducing her or in abandoning her to another.

I stayed to dinner next day in spite of my heartbreak and my sadness.  Mdlle. de la Meure talked so brilliantly and sensibly to her intended that one could easily see he was enchanted with her.  As for me, feeling that I had nothing pleasant to say, I pretended to have the toothache as an excuse for not talking.  Sick at heart, absent-minded, and feeling the effects of a sleepless night, I was well-nigh mad with love, jealousy, and despair.  Mdlle. de la Meure did not speak to me once, did not so much as look at me.  She was quite right, but I did not think so then.  I thought the dinner would never come to an end, and I do not think I was ever present at so painful a meal.

As we rose from the table, Madame went into her closet with her niece and nephew that was to be, and the niece came out in the course of an hour and bade us congratulate her, as she was to be married in a week, and after the wedding she would accompany her husband to Dunkirk.  “To-morrow,” she added, “we are all to dine with M. Corneman, where the deed of settlement will be signed.”

I cannot imagine how it was I did not fall dead on the spot.  My anguish cannot be expressed.

Before long it was proposed that we should go to the play, but excusing myself on the plea of business I returned to Paris.  As I got to my door I seemed to be in a fever, and I lay down on my bed, but instead of the rest I needed I experienced only remorse and fruitless repentance-the torments of the damned.  I began to think it was my duty to stop the marriage or die.  I was sure that Mdlle. de la Meure loved me, and I fancied she would not say no if I told her that her refusal to marry me would cost me my life.  Full of that idea I rose and wrote her a letter, strong with all the strength of tumultuous passion.  This was some relief, and getting into bed I slept till morning.  As soon as I was awake I summoned a messenger and promised him twelve francs if he would deliver my letter, and report its receipt in an hour and a half.  My letter was under cover of a note addressed to Tiretta, in which I told him that I should not leave the house till I had got an answer.  I had my answer four hours after; it ran as follows:  “Dearest, it is too late; you have decided on my destiny, and I cannot go back from my word.  Come to dinner at M. Corneman’s, and be sure that in a few weeks we shall be congratulating ourselves on having won a great victory.  Our love, crowned all too soon, will soon live only in our memories.  I beg of you to write to me no more.”