His attitude was as though he were cowed by my presence. He remembered our last meeting. In a moment, however, he recovered his self-possession, turned his back upon me, and strolled away beside that woman who had usurped my place. CHAPTER XII CARRIES ME ON BOARD THE VISPERA Faces, even expressions, may lie, but eyes lie never. A man may commit follies; but once cured, those follies expand his nature. With a woman, alas! follies are always debasing. It was, I knew, a folly to love him. Life is always disappointing. The shattering of our idols, the revelation of the shallowness of friendship, the losing faith in those we love, and the witnessing of their fall from that pedestal whereon we placed them in our own exalted idealization--all is disappointing. I stood gazing after him as he strode down the great room with its bejewelled, excited crowd, where the chevalier d’industrie and the declassé woman jostled with the pickpocket, the professional thief, and the men who gamble at Aix, Ostend, Namur, or Spa as the seasons come and go, that strange assembly of courteous Italians, bearded Russians, well-groomed Englishmen, and women painted, powdered, and perfumed; those reckless beings qui péchent à froid, who sin not through the senses but through indifference. I held my breath; my heart beat so violently that I could hear it above the babel of voices about me. I suffered the most acute agony. Of late I had been always thinking of him--asleep, dreaming--always dreaming of him. Always the same pang of regret was within my heart, regret that I had allowed him to go away without a word, without telling him how madly, despairingly, I loved him. Life without him was a hopeless blank, yet it was all through my vanity, my wretched pride, my invincible self-love. I was now careless, indifferent, inconsequential, my only thought being of him. His coldness, his disdain, was killing me. Yes, when his eyes had met mine in surprise, they were strange, Sphinx-like, and mysterious. Yet at that moment I did not care what he might say to me. I only wished to hear him speaking to me: to hear the sound of his voice and to know that he cared enough for me to treat me as a human being. Ah, I trembled when I realized how madly I loved him, and how fierce was my hatred of that woman who issued her orders and whom he obeyed. I turned away with the Allens, while Ulrica cried delightedly that she had won on 16, her favorite number. But I did not answer. My heart had grown sick, and I went forth into the bright night air and down the steps towards the “ascenseurs.” On the steps a well-dressed young Frenchman was lounging, and as I passed down I heard him humming to himself that gay, catchy chanson so popular at the café concert: