"I did not love her," replied Olivier. "I never thought I loved her. I hoped to love her. I told myself that I should feel what I had never felt at the contact of this soul so different, so new, so fresh, and in a life that resembled my past so little. Yes, once again I hoped and tried to feel." He accentuated the words with singular energy. "The real evil of this twilight of the century is the obstinate headstrong research of emotion. That malady I have.--I said to myself, to soothe my conscience: 'If I do not marry this girl, another will. She will be swept off by one of those countless rascals that flourish upon the Paris boulevards and one who is only hungry for her dowry. I shall not be a worse husband than such a one.'--And then I hoped for children, for a son.--Even that would not stir my heart now, I believe. The experiment has been made. Six months have been enough. My wife does not love me. I do not love, I never shall love, my wife.--There is the whole account.--But you are right. Honor still remains, and I will keep my word to the best of my ability." He passed his hand before his eyes and across his brow, as though to drive away the hideous ideas that he had just evoked with such brutal frankness, and went on more calmly:-- "I don't know why I should sadden you with my nervousness in the first moments of our meeting.--Yes, I do know.--It is the fault of this forest, of the color of the sky, of the souvenir of sixteen years ago, a souvenir so exact that it is a veritable obsession. However, it is finished. Don't speak; don't console me. The bitter pill has to be swallowed without a word." Then, with a smile, once again tender and open, he said:-- "Let us talk about yourself. What are you doing here? How are you? I see from your face that the South has cured you. But upon these shores, where the sun does you good, the weariness of life does you so much harm, that it is more than compensated for." "But I assure you I am not weary, not the least in the world!" replied Pierre. He felt that Olivier could not, that he ought not to, speak any more intimately about his married life. His heart was torn by the confidences he had just been listening to, and he could only wait until the wounds which had been so suddenly exposed to his view were less irritated, more healed. There was nothing left for him to do other than to give way to his friend's capricious curiosity. Besides, if Du Prat was going to stay at Cannes for any length of time, he must be prepared to see him going about and paying visits. He, therefore, continued:--