eps and shut
himself up in his studio.

But as soon as he was alone, before a newly begun picture, the ardor
that had burned in his blood began to cool. He felt tired, sat down on
his divan, and again gave himself up to dreaming.

The sort of happy indifference in which he lived, that carelessness of
the satisfied man whose almost every need is gratified, was leaving his
heart by degrees, as if something were still lacking. He realized that
his house was empty and his studio deserted. Then, looking around him,
he fancied he saw pass by him the shadow of a woman whose presence was
sweet. For a long time he had forgotten the sensation of impatience
that a lover feels when awaiting the coming of his mistress, and now he
suddenly felt that she was far away, and he longed, with the ardor of a
young man, to have her near him.

He was moved in thinking how much they had loved each other; and in
that vast apartment he found once more, where she had come so often,
innumerable reminders of her, her gestures, words, and kisses. He
recalled certain days, certain hours, certain moments, and he felt
around him the sweetness of her early caresses.

He got up, unable to sit quietly any longer, and began to walk, thinking
again that, in spite of this intimacy that had so filled his life, he
still remained alone, always alone. After the long hours of work, when
he looked around him, dazed by the reawakening of the man who returns to
life, he saw and felt only walls within reach of his hand and voice.
Not having any woman in his home, and not being able to meet the one he
loved except with the precautions of a thief, he had been compelled to
spend his leisure time in public places where one finds or purchases the
means of killing time. He was accustomed to going to the club, to the
Cirque and the Hippodrome, on fixed days, to the Opera, and to all sorts
of places, so that he should not be compelled to go home, where no doubt
he would have lived in perfect happiness had he only had her beside him.

Long before, in certain hours of tender abandon, he had suffered cruelly
because he could not take her and keep her with him; then, as his ardor
cooled, he had accepted quietly their separation and his own liberty;
now he regretted them once more, as if he were again beginning to love
her. And this return of tenderness invaded his heart so suddenly, almost
without reason, because the weather was fine, and possibly because a
little while ago