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baffles words； the whole of life rises before you then； and you search
in vain for any horizon to it； the veriest trifle is big with meaning；
a glance contains a volume； icicles drift on uttered words； and the
death sentence is read in a movement of the lips。
I thought he would have paid me back in kind； had I not been
magnanimous？ I climbed to the top of the chalet； and my eyes followed
him on the road。 Ah！ my dear Renee； he vanished from my sight with an
appalling swiftness。
〃How keen he is to go！〃 was the thought that sprang of itself。
Once more alone； I fell back into the hell of possibilities； the
maelstrom of mistrust。 There were moments when I would have welcomed
any certainty； even the worst； as a relief from the torture of
suspense。 Suspense is a duel carried on in the heart； and we give no
quarter to ourselves。
I paced up and down the walks。 I returned to the house； only to tear
out again； like a mad woman。 Gaston； who left at seven o'clock； did
not return till eleven。 Now； as it only takes half an hour to reach
Paris through the park of St。 Cloud and the Bois de Boulogne； it is
plain that he must have spent three hours in town。 He came back
radiant； with a whip in his hand for me； an india…rubber whip with a
gold handle。
For a fortnight I had been without a whip； my old one being worn and
broken。
〃Was it for this you tortured me？〃 I said； as I admired the
workmanship of this beautiful ornament； which contains a little scent…
box at one end。
Then it flashed on me that the present was a fresh artifice。
Nevertheless I threw myself at once on his neck； not without
reproaching him gently for having caused me so much pain for the sake
of a trifle。 He was greatly pleased with his ingenuity； his eyes and
his whole bearing plainly showed the restrained triumph of the
successful plotter； for there is a radiance of the soul which is
reflected in every feature and turn of the body。 While still examining
the beauties of this work of art； I asked him at a moment when we
happened to be looking each other in the face：
〃Who is the artist？〃
〃A friend of mine。〃
〃Ah！ I see it has been mounted by Verdier；〃 and I read the name of the
shop printed on the handle。
Gaston is nothing but a child yet。 He blushed； and I made much of him
as a reward for the shame he felt in deceiving me。 I pretended to
notice nothing； and he may well have thought the incident was over。
May 25th。
The next morning I was in my riding…habit by six o'clock； and by seven
landed at Verdier's； where several whips of the same pattern were
shown to me。 One of the men serving recognized mine when I pointed it
out to him。
〃We sold that yesterday to a young gentleman；〃 he said。 And from the
description I gave him of my traitor Gaston； not a doubt was left of
his identity。 I will spare you the palpitations which rent my heart
during that journey to Paris and the little scene there； which marked
the turning…point of my life。
By half…seven I was home again； and Gaston found me； fresh and
blooming； in my morning dress； sauntering about with a make…believe
nonchalance。 I felt confident that old Philippe； who had been taken
into my confidence； would not have betrayed my absence。
〃Gaston；〃 I said； as we walked by the side of the lake； 〃you cannot
blind me to the difference between a work of art inspired by
friendship and something which has been cast in a mould。〃
He turned white； and fixed his eyes on me rather than on the damaging
piece of evidence I thrust before them。
〃My dear；〃 I went on； 〃this is not a whip； it is a screen behind which
you are hiding something from me。〃
Thereupon I gave myself the gratification of watching his hopeless
entanglement in the coverts and labyrinths of deceit and the desperate
efforts he made to find some wall he might scale and thus escape。 In
vain； he had perforce to remain upon the field； face to face with an
adversary； who at last laid down her arms in a feigned complacence。
But it was too late。 The fatal mistake； against which my mother had
tried to warm me； was made。 My jealousy； exposed in all its nakedness；
had led to war and all its stratagems between Gaston and myself。
Jealousy； dear； has neither sense nor decency。
I made up my mind now to suffer in silence； but to keep my eyes open；
until my doubts were resolved one way or another。 Then I would either
break with Gaston or bow to my misfortune： no middle course is
possible for a woman who respects herself。
What can he be concealing？ For a secret there is； and the secret has
to do with a woman。 Is it some youthful escapade for which he still
blushes？ But if so； what？ The word /what/ is written in letters of
fire on all I see。 I read it in the glassy water of my lake； in the
shrubbery； in the clouds； on the ceilings； at table； in the flowers of
the carpets。 A voice cries to me /what？/ in my sleep。 Dating from the
morning of my discovery； a cruel interest has sprung into our lives；
and I have become familiar with the bitterest thought that can corrode
the heartthe thought of treachery in him one loves。 Oh！ my dear；
there is heaven and hell together in such a life。 Never had I felt
this scorching flame； I to whom love had appeared only in the form of
devoutest worship。
〃So you wished to know the gloomy torture…chamber of pain！〃 I said to
myself。 Good； the spirits of evil have heard your prayer； go on your
road； unhappy wretch！
May 30th。
Since that fatal day Gaston no longer works with the careless ease of
the wealthy artist； whose work is merely pastime； he sets himself
tasks like a professional writer。 Four hours a day he devotes to
finishing his two plays。
〃He wants money！〃
A voice within whispered the thought。 But why？ He spends next to
nothing； we have absolutely no secrets from each other； there is not a
corner of his study which my eyes and my fingers may not explore。 His
yearly expenditure does not amount to two thousand francs； and I know
that he has thirty thousand； I can hardly say laid by； but scattered
loose in a drawer。 You can guess what is coming。 At midnight； while he
was sleeping； I went to see if the money was still there。 An icy
shiver ran through me。 The drawer was empty。
That same week I discovered that he went to Sevres to fetch his
letters； and these letters he must tear up immediately； for though I
am a very Figaro in contrivances； I have never yet seen a trace of
one。 Alas！ my sweet； despite the fine promises and vows by which I
bound myself after the scene of the whip； an impulse； which I can only
call madness； drove me to follow him in one of his rapid rides to the
post…office。 Gaston was appalled to be thus discovered on horseback；
paying the postage of a letter which he held in his hand。 He looked
fixedly at me； and then put spurs to Fedelta。 The pace was so hard
that I felt shaken to bits when I reached the lodge gate； though my
mental agony was such at the time that it might well have dulled all
consciousness of bodily pain。 Arrived at the gate； Gaston said
nothing； he rang the bell and waited without a word。 I was more dead
than alive。 I might be mistaken or I might not； but in neither case
was