Woman--he had really known but one, his own. Apart from a few indiscretions during his life as a student, indiscretions that were forgotten as soon as committed, he remembered his life as a young man, his four years spent in the desert under Mariette Bey, his imperturbable chastity, that precocious contempt for love which caused even the "Great Bey" to tease him. When his comrades left the cantonment and went to the nearest town to see the dancing Bayaderes or spend a night's leave with some native girl, M. Raindal had, as a rule, discovered some pretext not to join them, some special work to be finished, a papyrus to be deciphered or a sudden indisposition. "Sapristi! Raindal, you must rub the rust off yourself, my dear fellow!" the Great Bey declared, in that sarcastic voice of his. "You will end by making us believe that you have a liaison with a mummy!" The young savant would laugh, promise to follow his companions, but recant at the last minute. The Bayaderes bored him. Since then, apart from his wife, no one! Not one adventure, not one memory, no graceful image, none of those dear phantoms whose one particular beauty--her hands, her smile, her finesse in love-making or the sweetness of her eyes--flatters one, with its secret companionship, till death. Here he was now, hoary and disfigured by age, unable to attract anyone, panting with love at the time when pleasure should be given up, enamored of a young woman who loved another! What a punishment! What agony! How long would it last? How long would it remain to show him the joys he had missed, thanks to pedantic vainglory and proud self-confidence? He walked to the chimney. Standing before the mirror, he twisted his features in stranger grimaces to convince himself even more that his decrepitude was beyond hope. Ah! yes indeed, he had a pretty complexion, fine teeth and wrinkles, puffed skin and a nice flabby face, everything in short which he needed to seduce a young woman! The wheels of a carriage crunched the gravel of the path. He heard voices raised in appeals and much laughter. George had arrived. M. Raindal had a sudden desire to go down. He would allege the return of Chambannes and the wish to welcome his host; then he could see Zozé once more. His hand was on the handle of the door, but a scruple of pride kept him back. No, that would be too cowardly! He stayed upstairs. He heard doors being closed. Silence again fell over the house. M. Raindal felt as if his heart had been stabbed again. He was thinking about the husband who was with his wife now.... His shoulders shook in a nasty sneer. Phew! he was not jealous of that unfortunate Chambannes! Really, there was nothing to envy him for! To be the husband of a brainless little fool, a worthless creature who, a minute ago.... He did not finish his thought. His eyes were bloodshot; brutal curses rushed to his lips; he was choking. M. Raindal opened the window.