"I do not know what you may have expected," he went on, "but I might have anticipated still worse things, from seeing you day by day steeped in this slime, this idleness, this luxury, this senseless society; and I did anticipate.... I did anticipate this that to-day covers me with shame, and sinks me in misery such as I have never experienced; shame for myself, when your dear friend, prying and fumbling about in my heart with her unclean fingers, spoke of my jealousy,--and jealousy of whom? Of a man whom neither you nor I have ever seen! And you, as if purposely, you will not understand me, you 'will sacrifice' to me,--whom? Great God!... Shame on your degradation! Sacrifice!" he repeated once more. "Ah, this then is what is meant by the husband's authority," I thought. "To insult and humiliate his wife, who is not guilty of the very least thing in the world! Here then are 'marital rights;'--but I, for one, will never submit to them!" "Well, I sacrifice _nothing_ to you, then," I returned, feeling my nostrils dilate, and my face grow bloodless. "I will go to the reception on Saturday. I most certainly will go!" "And God give you pleasure in it! Only--all is ended between us!" he exclaimed, in an uncontrollable transport of rage. "At least you shall not make a martyr of me any longer. I was a fool who...." But his lips trembled, and he made a visible effort not to finish what he had begun to say. At this moment I was afraid of him and I hated him. I longed to say a great many more things to him, and to avenge myself for all his insults; but if I had so much as opened my lips, my tears could no longer have been restrained, and I would have felt my dignity compromised before him. I left the room, without a word. But scarcely was I beyond the sound of his footsteps when I was suddenly seized with terror at the thought of what we had done. It seemed to me horrible that, perhaps for life, this bond, which constituted all my happiness, was destroyed, and my impulse was to return at once. But would his passion have subsided sufficiently for him to comprehend me, if, without a word, I should hold out my hand to him, and look into his eyes? Would he comprehend my generosity? Suppose he should regard my sincere sorrow as dissimulation? Or should consider my voluntary right-doing as repentance, and receive me on that score? Or grant me pardon, with proud tranquillity? And why, when I have loved him so much, oh, _why_ should he have insulted me so?