so very expensively though; my father, to be sure, gave me porcelains, flowers, and silver,—a wonderful lot. Le matin je sortais, visits, à 5 heures régulièrement. I used to go and dine with her; often she was alone. Il faut avouer que c'était une femme ravissante! You did n't know her at all, did you?"
"No."
"You see, there was such high degree of womanliness in her, and such tenderness, and what love! Lord! I did not know how to appreciate my happiness then. We would return after the theatre, and have a little supper together. It was never dull where she was, toujours gaie, toujours aimante. Yes, and I had never imagined what rare happiness it was. Et j' ai beaucoup a me reprocher in regard to her. Je l'ai fait souffrir et souvent. I was outrageous. Akh! What a marvellous time that was! Do I bore you?"
"No, not at all."
"Then I will tell you about our evenings. I used to go—that stairway, every flower-pot I knew,—the door-handle, all was so lovely, so familiar; then the vestibule, her room. . . . No, it will never, never come back to me again! Even now she writes to me: if you will let me, I will show you her letters. But I am not what I was; I am ruined; I am no longer worthy of her . . . Yes, I am ruined for ever. Je suis cassé. There's no energy in me, no pride, nothing—nor
