The more I reflected, the more the darkness thickened about me. From time
to time I turned my head and saw a cold smile or a curious glance.
Desgenais did not leave me, he knew very well what he was doing, he knew
that I might go to any length in my present desperate condition.
When he found that he had brought me to the desired point he did not
hesitate to deal the finishing stroke.
"Does that story displease you?" he asked. "The best is yet to come. My
dear Octave, the scene I have described took place on a certain night
when the moon was shining brightly; while the two lovers were quarreling
over their fair one and talking of cutting her throat as she sat before
the fire, down in the street a certain shadow was seen to pass up and
down before the house, a shadow that resembled you so closely that it was
decided that it must be you."
"Who says that," I asked, "who has seen me in the street?"
"Your mistress herself; she has told every one about it who cared to
listen, just as cheerfully as we tell you her story. She claims that you
love her still, that you keep guard at her door, in short--everything you
can think of; but you should know that she talks about you publicly."
I have never been able to lie, for whenever I have tried to disguise the
truth my face betrayed me. Amour propre, the shame of confessing my
weakness before witnesses induced me, however, to make the effort.
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