Only, at this moment, circumstances strike me which I had not previously observed. At the Grove, Catherine plied me with questions as to my labours with M. de Sérigny; she interrogated me minutely as to the impressions or memories which I retained. When I confessed frankly their insignificance, and chose rather to speak of our love, she was annoyed and pouted, she reproached me with being either too discreet or too frivolous. When I wished to abandon the ungrateful career which I had adopted in idleness, Catherine employed all the resources of her mind, all her influence, all her power over me to deter me from resigning my position. It is true that these questions and this persuasion were alike used in the name of the profound interest which she felt for me. I believe it, for it would be outrageous to suppose that her reluctance to see me abandon my career was prompted by her reluctance to forfeit the price of her long premeditated error. Since her return to Paris, what has her life been? Did she sacrifice at my request her accustomed social relations? On the contrary, she increased them, and her drawing-room has become a centre of diplomatic intrigue. Our long days of tender affection have given place to occupations which are not those of a woman dominated by love. If I sadly reproach her for this unhappy change, her answer is that she must obey her husband's expressed wishes,--wishes that are all the more sacred to her since she has been guilty of so censurable an error. I believe her in this case, without hesitation. I believe her very anxious to please the prince. But I also have some rights. I saved her child's life. And what did she give me in return? Herself, yes, she gave me herself. This sacrifice of her honour, of her duties, has been either terrible and intoxicating, or it has only been an infamous, an odious calculation! If this proof of love has been for her what it ever is for a virtuous, passionate woman, a most agonising sacrifice, why did she then refuse to abandon interests that were of the utmost insignificance in comparison with the irreparable fault she had committed? Are these interests dearer to her than her love? Is her love only secondary to them? It is, then, only a means, a pretext? So be it; I have been the puppet of an intriguing woman, but she is very beautiful, and I am only half her dupe. Such was the abominable theme I developed with the diabolical power of paradoxes. I was so incensed that I firmly believed I had wrestled against these frightful suspicions; and I became convinced of these horrors with the same bitter satisfaction of the man who discovers the vile snare into which he has fallen. As an executioner I struck pitilessly, as a victim I moaned bitterly. The remembrance of Hélène, of Marguerite, of Falmouth,--nothing could bring me to my senses. From the confirmation of so much infamy to the hate and scorn it inspired, there was but one step for my fierce monomania.