’Not if you will be reasonable, Louis, and listen to me.  Oh, heavens, how ill you are!’ As she said this she drew nearer to him, so that her face was almost close to his.  ’Louis, come back; come back, and let it all be forgotten.  It shall be a dream, a horrid dream, and nobody shall speak of it.’  He left his hand within hers and stood looking into her face.  He was well aware that his life since he had left her had been one long hour of misery.  There had been to him no alleviation, no comfort, no consolation.  He had not a friend left to him.  Even his satellite, the policeman, was becoming weary of him and manifestly suspicious.  The woman with whom he was now lodging, and whose resources were infinitely benefited by his payments to her, had already thrown out hints that she was afraid of him.  And as he looked at his wife, he knew that he loved her.  Everything for him now was hot and dry and poor and bitter.  How sweet would it be again to sit with her soft hand in his, to feel her cool brow against his own, to have the comfort of her care, and to hear the music of loving words!  The companionship of his wife had once been to him everything in the world; but now, for many months past, he had known no companion.  She bade him come to her, and look upon all this trouble as a dream not to be mentioned.  Could it be possible that it should be so, and that they might yet be happy together, perhaps in some distant country, where the story of all their misery might not be known?  He felt all this truly and with a keen accuracy.  If he were mad, he was not all mad.  ’I will tell you of nothing that is past,’ said she, hanging to him, and coming still nearer to him, and embracing his arm.

Could she have condescended to ask him not to tell her of the past, had it occurred to her so to word her request, she might perhaps have prevailed.  But who can say how long the tenderness of his heart would have saved him from further outbreak and whether such prevailing on her part would have been of permanent service?  As it was, her words wounded him in that spot of his inner self which was most sensitive, on that spot from whence had come all his fury.  A black cloud came upon his brow, and he made an effort to withdraw himself from her grasp.  It was necessary to him that she should in some fashion own that he had been right, and now she was promising him that she would not tell him of his fault!  He could not thus swallow down all the convictions by which he had fortified himself to bear the misfortunes which he had endured.  Had he not quarrelled with every friend he possessed on this score; and should he now stultify himself in all those quarrels by admitting that he had been cruel, unjust, and needlessly jealous?  And did not truth demand of him that he should cling to his old assurances?  Had she not been disobedient, ill-conditioned, and rebellious?  Had she not received the man, both him personally and his letters, after he had explained to her that his honour demanded that it should not be so?  How could he come into such terms as those now proposed to him, simply because he longed to enjoy the rich sweetness of her soft hand, to feel the fragrance of her breath, and to quench the heat of his forehead in the cool atmosphere of her beauty?  ’Why have you driven me to this by your intercourse with that man?’ he said.  ‘Why, why, why did you do it?’