Every woman who kisses
you, takes from you a spark of life and gives you none in return; you
exhaust yourself on fantoms; wherever falls a drop of our sweat, there
springs up one of those sinister weeds that grow in graveyards. Die! You
are the enemy of all, who love; blot yourself from the face of the earth,
do not wait for old age; do not leave a child behind you, do not
fecundate a drop of your corrupted blood; vanish as does the smoke, do
not deprive a single blade of living grass of a ray of sunlight!'"
When I had spoken these words, I fell back in my chair and a flood of
tears streamed from my eyes.
"Ah! Desgenais," I cried, sobbing, "this is not what you told me. Did you
not know it? And if you did, why did you not tell me of it?"
But Desgenais sat still with folded hands; he was as pale as a shroud and
a long tear trickled down his cheek.
A moment of silence ensued. The clock struck; I suddenly remembered that
it was this hour and this day, one year ago, that my mistress deceived
me.
"Do you hear that clock?" I cried, "do you hear it? I do not know what it
means at this moment, but it is a terrible hour and one that will count
in my life."
I was beside myself and scarcely knew what I was saying. But that instant
a servant rushed into the room; he took my hand and led me aside,
whispering in my ear:
"Sir, I have come to inform you that your father is dying; he has just
been seized with an attack of apoplexy and the physicians despair of his
life.
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