y nor
his own time.

But the determination of man is limited by circumstance, and circumstance
was at that moment preparing and rehearsing the last act of the drama of
Berselius.

CHAPTER XXXVII

BERSELIUS BEHOLDS HIS OTHER SELF

On the morning after Berselius's conversation with Adams, Berselius left
the Avenue Malakoff, taking his way to the Avenue des Champs Elysees on
foot.

The change in the man was apparent even in his walk. In the old days he
was rapid in his movements, erect of head, keen of eye. The weight of
fifteen years seemed to have suddenly fallen on his shoulders, bowing them
and slowing his step. He was in reality carrying the most terrible burden
that a man can carry--himself.

A self that was dead, yet with which he had to live. A past which broke
continually up through his dreams.

He was filled with profound unrest, irritation and revolt; everything
connected with that other one, even the money he had made and the house he
had built for himself and the pursuits he had followed, increased this
irritation and revolt. He had already formed plans for taking a new house
in Paris, but to-day, as he walked along the streets, he recognized that
Paris itself was a house, every corner of which belonged to that other
one's past.

In the Avenue Champs Elysees, he hailed a _fiacre_ and drove to the house
of his lawyer, M. Cambon, which was situated in the Rue d'Artiles.

Cambon had practically retired from his business, which was carried on now
by his son. But for a few old and powerful clients, such as Berselius, he
still acted personally.

He was at home, and Berselius was shown into a drawing room, furnished
heavily after the heart of the prosperous French _bourgeois_.

He had not to wait long for the appearance of the lawyer, a fat,
pale-faced gentleman, wearing gold-rimmed spectacles, tightly buttoned up
in a frock-coat, the buttonhole of which was adorned with the red rosette
of the Legion of Honour.

Cambon had known Berselius for years. The two men were friends, and even
more, for Cambon was the depository of Berselius's most confidential
affairs.

"Well," said the lawyer, "you have returned. I saw a notice of your return
in the _Echo de Paris_, and indeed, this very day I had promised myself
the pleasure of calling on you. And how is Madame Berselius?"

"She is at Trouville."

"I had it in my mind that you proposed to remain away twelve months."

"Yes, but our expedition ca