It was impossible to take that peacefully. Dulac rose in his turn and asked me if I had intended to insult him. I laughed in his face and made no reply. Others tried to adjust the affair by representing to him that I was a bad loser and that my losses had irritated me. I saw plainly that everybody thought me in the wrong. Dulac said nothing, nor did I. I had done enough in public amply to explain a subsequent duel. After a few moments I walked up to Dulac and said to him in an undertone: “I shall await you to-morrow, at seven o’clock, with a friend, at the entrance to the forest of Vincennes; do not fail to be there, and be sure that this affair cannot be adjusted.” He bowed in assent; I walked about the salon once or twice, then disappeared. I required a second; my choice was already made; our real friends are never so numerous as to cause us embarrassment. I went to see Ernest at his new home. They had gone out, they were at the theatre with their children. But they kept a servant now. I decided to wait for them, for I felt that I must see Ernest that evening. The certainty of vengeance near at hand, or of an end of my troubles, calmed my passions a little. I reflected on my situation. I was going to fight. If I killed my opponent, that would not give me back my happiness. If he killed me, my children would be delivered over to the tender mercies of a mother who did not love them; so that even that duel could not have a satisfactory result. Was it really necessary? Yes, because I abhorred Dulac now. And yet he had only played the part of a young man, he had done only what I myself had done when I had been a bachelor. My wife was much the guiltier, and her I could not punish. I had nothing to write, in case I should be killed; for my children would inherit all my property. I prayed that they might always remain in ignorance of their mother’s sin. How much misery may result from an instant’s weakness! If a woman could ever calculate it, would she be guilty? But did I myself calculate it before my marriage? No; we must have passions and torments and excitement. A pure and tranquil happiness would bore us, and yet there are some people who know that happiness; there are privileged beings; and there are some too who have no passions, who love as they eat, or drink, or sleep. Having no knowledge of veritable love, they do not suffer its torments; perhaps they are the happier for it. After five years and a few months of married life, and a love marriage, too! She seemed to love me so dearly! was it not real love at that time? If not, what constrained her to tell me so and to marry me? Her mother did only as she wished. The woman who is forced to give her hand to a man whom she does not love is much less guilty when she betrays her faith. But to manifest so much love for me, and--But no, I must forget all that.