What a strange feeling of unrest seizes us then!  What becomes of those phantoms of tranquil pride, the will and prudence?  Force itself, that mistress of the world, that sword of man in the combat of life, in vain do we brandish it over our heads in wrath, in vain do we seek to ward off with it a blow which threatens us; an invisible power turns aside the point, and all the impetus of effort, deflected into space, serves only to precipitate our fall.

Thus, at the moment I was hoping to cleanse myself from the sin I had committed, perhaps to inflict the penalty, at the very instant when a great horror had taken possession of me, I learned that I had to sustain a dangerous test.

Desgenais was in good humor; stretching himself out on my sofa he began to chaff me about my appearance, which indicated, he said, that I had not slept well.  As I was little disposed to indulge in pleasantry I begged him to spare me.

He appeared to pay no attention to me, but, warned by my tone, soon broached the subject that had brought him to me.  He informed me that my mistress had not only two lovers at a time, but three; that is to say, she had treated my rival as badly as she had treated me; the poor boy, having discovered her inconstancy, made a great ado and all Paris knew it.  At first I did not catch the meaning of Desgenais’s words, as I was not listening attentively; but when he had repeated his story three times in detail I was so stupefied that I could not reply.  My first impulse was to laugh, for I saw that I had loved the most unworthy of women; but it was no less true that I loved her still.  “Is it possible?” was all I could say.

Desgenais’s friends confirmed all he had said.  My mistress had been surprised in her own house between two lovers, and a scene ensued that all Paris knew by heart.  She was disgraced, obliged to leave Paris or remain exposed to the most bitter taunts.

It was easy for me to see that in all this ridicule a great part was directed at me, not only on account of my duel in connection with this woman, but from my whole conduct in regard to her.  To say that she deserved severest censure, that she had perhaps committed far worse sins than those she was charged with, was but to make me feel that I had been one of her dupes.

All this did not please me; but Desgenais had undertaken the task of curing me of my love, and was prepared to treat my disease heroically.  A long friendship, founded on mutual services, gave him certain rights, and as his motive appeared praiseworthy I allowed him to have his way.

Not only did he not spare me, but when he saw my trouble and my shame increase, he pressed me the harder.  My impatience was so obvious that he could not continue, so he stopped and remained silent—­a course that irritated me still more.

In my turn I began to ask questions; I paced to and fro in my room.  Although the recital of the story was well-nigh insupportable, I wished to hear it again.  I tried to assume a smiling face and tranquil air, but in vain.  Desgenais suddenly became silent after having shown himself to be a most virulent gossip.  While I was pacing up and down my room he looked at me calmly, as if I were a caged fox.