At nine o’clock this morning I called at M. Laubépin’s in the vague hope that he might have returned earlier than he intended, but he is not expected until to-morrow. I thought at once of seeing Mme. Laubépin and explaining the awkward position I was placed in through her husband’s absence. While I hesitated in a conflict of shame and necessity, the old servant, alarmed, perhaps, by my hungry gaze, settled the question by suddenly shutting the door. I made up my mind hereupon to fast until the next day. After all, I said to myself, a day’s abstinence does not kill one. If this showed an excessive pride, at all events I was the only one to suffer, and consequently it concerned no one but myself. I accordingly made my way to the Sorbonne, where I attended several lectures, trying to fill up my corporeal vacuum by spiritual sustenance. But when this resource came to an end I found it had been quite inadequate. And I had an attack of nervous irritation which I tried to calm by walking. It was a cold, misty day. As I crossed the Pont des Saints-Pères I stopped for a minute in spite of myself. Leaning on the parapet, I watched the troubled water rushing under the arches. I know not what unholy thoughts shot through my worn and weakened brain. I saw in the gloomiest colours a future of ceaseless struggle, of dependence, and of humiliation, which I was approaching by the dark gate of hunger; I felt a profound and utter disgust of life; it seemed impossible to me under such conditions. At the same time a flame of fierce and brutal anger leaped up in me. Dazed and reeling, I hung over the void, and saw all the river glittering with sparks of fire. I will not say, as is usual, God would not have it so. I hate these cant phrases, and I dare to say _I_ would not. God has made us free, and if ever before I had doubted it, this supreme moment—when soul and body, courage and cowardice, good and evil, held mortal combat within me—would have swept my doubts away forever. Master of myself again, those terrible waves only suggested an innocent, and rather absurd longing to quench the thirst that tortured me. I soon remembered that I should find much purer water in my room at home. I went quickly towards the _hôtel_, imagining that the most delicious pleasures awaited me there. With pathetic childishness I delighted in this glorious device, and wondered I had not thought of it sooner. On the boulevard I suddenly came face to face with Gaston de Vaux, whom I had not seen for two years. After a moment’s hesitation he stopped, grasped my hand cordially, said a word or two about my travels, and left me hurriedly. But he turned back. "My friend," he said to me, "you must allow me to let you share a piece of good luck I’ve just had. I have put my hand on a treasure; I have got some cigars which cost me two francs each, but really they are beyond price. Here’s one; you must tell me how you like it. _An revoir_, old man!"