"These words were uttered in such an impersonal manner that any personal allusion was excluded. I could not discover in them the confession I was trembling to find. I was silent. In venturing into this discussion, I did not expect to be struck with my own weapons. "Darkness, although not precipitated by the half-stripped trees near the avenue, was gradually coming on. And I carried away from her home an uncertainty, an unspeakable distress." "October 20th: Nobody knows I have returned to Paris. However, finding Mlle. de Sézery's door shut, I paid a visit to my old friend, Doctor Heaume, who is incurably ill, as a result of excessive expenditure of mental energy. I found him seated, or rather strapped to his work table from which he no longer has strength to rise. Only his eyes are alive and pitiful. One knows from a distance that his cheeks are already paralyzed. With superhuman energy, he is completing his treatise on nervous diseases. Then he will die. "'If I cease working,' he said to me, 'my trouble is unbearable.' "His pain is an unfortunate marriage which has destroyed him day by day. On account of his children he has borne everything without a murmur. Yesterday I admired him: to-day I pity him." "October 22nd: The lack of outdoor life has broken down Anne's health. We now go out together every afternoon. On our return, we have tea and she sings Grieg or Schumann for me, or songs new to me, of coming Russian musicians, Mouscorgsky or Rimsky Korsakof. Her musical memory makes it possible to leave the lamps unlighted until night has come on. In the twilight one is so happy. But in her dark drawing-room her powerful voice is cramped, as is her soul in life. "Paris is kind to intimate sentiments. One feels oneself as lost and free as in a desert. "Apropos of some character in history or a novel, we often speak of love. I concluded by asking her in the most serious manner this question which was tormenting me: "'You have already loved?' "'Oh, already,' she replied, laughing. 'At thirty, my friend?' "'That is not an answer.' "'Well, yes. Does that interest you?' "'Very much. Many times?' "'No, once. And other times a little.' "'Tell me.' "But she immediately became serious. 'To tell about one's love means to give up part of it.' "'Are you still in love?' "'Leave me my secrets.' "This scene took place in the Luxembourg Garden at the close of day. The girl had turned her head away. Before her and back of the trees, stirred by the autumn winds, there were lights in the sky. A roll of drums warned us that it was time to leave. I looked at the graceful, supple body which has already been embraced. How could I have doubted it? Her woman's charm is so complete. I shall always see that spot where I have been jealous, so horribly jealous." "October 23rd: I am no longer master of my feelings. In the midst of my work, I must let my thoughts go free--they may return wounded or tired. And I see myself going adrift.