words down. Dear friend, was not this a
trial passing the strength of woman?

I returned the letter, saying:

"My poor Gaston, you are getting bored down here. Let us go back to
Paris, won't you?"

"To Paris?" he said. "But why? I only wanted to find out if I had any
gift, to taste the flowing bowl of success!"

Nothing would be easier than for me to ransack the drawer sometime while
he is working and pretend great surprise at finding the money gone.
But that would be going half-way to meet the answer, "Oh! my friend
So-and-So was hard up!" etc., which a man of Gaston's quick wit would
not have far to seek.

The moral, my dear, is that the brilliant success of this play, which
all Paris is crowding to see, is due to us, though the whole credit goes
to Nathan. I am represented by one of the two stars in the legend: Et M
* *. I saw the first night from the depths of one of the stage boxes.

July 1st.

Gaston's work and his visits to Paris shall continue. He is preparing
new plays, partly because he wants a pretext for going to Paris, partly
in order to make money. Three plays have been accepted, and two more are
commissioned.

Oh! my dear, I am lost, all is darkness around me. I would set fire to
the house in a moment if that would bring light. What does it all mean?
Is he ashamed of taking money from me? He is too high-minded for so
trumpery a matter to weigh with him. Besides, scruples of the kind could
only be the outcome of some love affair. A man would take anything from
his wife, but from the woman he has ceased to care for, or is thinking
of deserting, it is different. If he needs such large sums, it must be
to spend them on a woman. For himself, why should he hesitate to draw
from my purse? Our savings amount to one hundred thousand francs!

In short, my sweetheart, I have explored a whole continent of
possibilities, and after carefully weighing all the evidence, am
convinced I have a rival. I am deserted--for whom? At all costs I must
see the unknown.

July 10th.

Light has come, and it is all over with me. Yes, Renee, at the age of
thirty, in the perfection of my beauty, with all the resources of
a ready wit and the seductive charms of dress at my command, I am
betrayed--and for whom? A large-boned Englishwoman, with big feet and
thick waist--a regular British cow! There is no longer room for doubt. I
will tell you the history of the last few days.

Worn out with suspicions, which were fed by Gas