Her artistic following did not submit to this condition of affairs without a struggle, and the revolution produced a close alliance among her old friends. Fresnel, even, was accepted by them, enrolled on the regimental muster and became a power in the league, while Mariolle was its acknowledged head, for they were all aware of the ascendency that he had over her and her friendship for him. He, however, watched her as she was whirled away in this flattering popularity as a child watches the vanishing of his red balloon when he has let go the string. It seemed to him that she was eluding him in the midst of this elegant, motley, dancing throng and flying far, far away from that secret happiness that he had so ardently desired for both of them, and he was jealous of everybody and everything, men, women, and inanimate objects alike. He conceived a fierce detestation for the life that she was leading, for all the people that she associated with, all the _fêtes_ that she frequented, balls, theaters, music, for they were all in a league to take her from him by bits and absorb her days and nights, and only a few scant hours were now accorded to their intimacy. His indulgence of this unreasoning spite came near causing him a fit of sickness, and when he visited her he brought with him such a wan face that she said to him: "What ails you? You have changed of late, and are very thin." "I have been loving you too much," he replied. She gave him a grateful look: "No one ever loves too much, my friend." "Can you say such a thing as that?" "Why, yes." "And you do not see that I am dying of my vain love for you." "In the first place it is not true that you love in vain; then no one ever dies of that complaint, and finally all our friends are jealous of you, which proves pretty conclusively that I am not treating you badly, all things considered." He took her hand: "You do not understand me!" "Yes, I understand very well." "You hear the despairing appeal that I am incessantly making to your heart?" "Yes, I have heard it." "And----" "And it gives me much pain, for I love you enormously." "And then?" "Then you say to me: 'Be like me; think, feel, express yourself as I do.' But, my poor friend, I can't. I am what I am. You must take me as God made me, since I gave myself thus to you, since I have no regrets for having done so and no desire to withdraw from the bargain, since there is no one among all my acquaintance that is dearer to me than you are." "You do not love me!" "I love you with all the power of loving that exists in me. If it is not different or greater, is that my fault?" "If I was certain of that I might content myself with it." "What do you mean by that?" "I mean that I believe you capable of loving otherwise, but that I do not believe that it lies in me to inspire you with a genuine passion."