gloomy,
more Giaour-like, more Lara-like than usual; I am her hero, her god! or
rather her demon, for she has now taken to the sorceries of the satanic
school! I assure you that she annoys me inexpressibly, and yet I feel a
sort of pleasure in being admired by her. It consoles my vanity for
Louise's disdain, but not my heart. Alas! my poor heart, which still
bleeds and suffers. I caught a glimpse of Paradise through a half-open
door. The door is shut, and I weep upon the threshold!

If Louise were dead, I might be calm; but she exists, and not for
me--that thought makes life insupportable. I can think of nothing else,
and I scarcely know whether the words I write to you make any sense. I
leave my letter unfinished. I will finish it this evening if I can
succeed in diverting myself, for a moment, from this despair which
possesses me.

Roger, something incredible has happened, overturning every calculation,
every prevision. I am stupefied, benumbed--I was at the Marquise's,
where it was darker than usual. One solitary lamp flickered in a corner,
dozing under a huge shade. A fat gentleman, buried in an easy-chair,
drowsily retailed the news of the day.

I was not listening to him; I was thinking of Louise's little white
couch, from which I had once lifted the snowy curtain; with that
sorrowful intensity, those poignant regrets which torture rejected
lovers. Suddenly a familiar name struck my ear--the name of Irene de
Chateaudun. I became attentive--"She is to be married to-morrow,"
continued the well-posted gentleman, "to--wait a minute, I get confused
about names and dates; with that exception, my memory is excellent--a
young man, Gaston, Raymond, I am not certain which, but his first name
ends in _on_ I am sure."

I eagerly questioned the fat man; he knew nothing more; hastily
returning to my rooms I sent Joseph out to obtain further information.

My servant, who is quick and intelligent, and merits a master more given
to intrigue and gallantry than I, went to the twelve mayors' offices. He
brought me a list of all the banns that had been published.

The news was true; Irene de Chateaudun marries Raymond. What does that
signify? Irene your fiancee, Raymond our friend! What comedy of errors
is being played here? This, then, was the motive of these flights, these
disappearances. They were laughing at you. It seems to me rather an
audacious proceeding. How does it happen that Raymond, who knew of your
projected marri