hing hard and cruel in
her, which he had not observed in the interview of the night
before. Then he discovered that he hated her, abominated her
with all the force of his mind and muscles and nerves. He longed
to tear her to pieces, to rend and crush her. It made him furious
to think she was moving, talking, laughing,--in a word, that she
was alive. At least it was only fair she should suffer, that
life should wound her and make her heart bleed. He was rejoiced
at the thought that she must die one day, and then nothing of
her would be left, of her rounded shape and the warmth of her
flesh; none would ever again see the superb play of light in
her hair and eyes, the reflections, now pale, now pearly, of
her dead-white skin. But her body, that filled him with such
rage, would be young and warm and supple for long years yet,
and lover after lover would feel it quiver and awake to passion.
She would exist for other men, but not for him. Was that to be
borne? Ah! the deliciousness of plunging a dagger in that warm,
living bosom! Ah! the bliss, the voluptuousness of holding her
pinned beneath one knee and demanding between two stabs:

"Am I ridiculous now?"

He was still muttering suchlike maledictions when he felt a hand
laid on his shoulder. Wheeling round, he saw a quaint figure--a
huge nose like a pothook, high, massive shoulders, enormous,
well-shaped hands, a general impression of uncouthness combined
with vigour and geniality. He thought for a moment where this
strange monster could have come from; then he shouted: "Garneret!"

Instantly his memory flew back to the court-yard and class-rooms
of the school in the _Rue d'Assas_, and he saw a heavily built
lad, for ever under punishment, standing out face to the wall
during playtime, getting and giving mighty fisticuffs, a terrible
fellow for plain speaking and hard hitting, industrious, yet a
thorn in the side of masters, always in ill-luck, yet ever and
anon electrifying the class with some stroke of genius.

He was glad enough to see his old school-fellow again, who struck
him as looking almost old with his puckered lids and heavy features.
They set off arm in arm along the deserted _Quai_, and to the
accompaniment of the faint lapping of the water against the retaining
walls, told each other the history of their past--which was succinct
enough, their present ideas, and their hopes for the future--which
were boundless.

The same ill-luck still pursued Garneret;