deeply with her in her grief, but he did not conceal from himself that
he was infinitely relieved at the turn affairs had taken. With such a
morbidly analytical and yet profoundly moral nature as his, no rapture
of the senses could possibly last for six months and more. The passion
in which reason plays no part was past and over long ago, and during
the last few weeks he had reflected upon the situation with
ever-increasing clearness and deliberation. At first he had not been
quite sure of his feelings, but earnest self-examination by degrees
made everything plain to him. What he was most distinctly conscious of
was a sense of profound disgust at his present manner of life. Things
could not remain as they were. Sooner or later it must inevitably come
to the knowledge of his friends. What would they think of him for
leading such a life at Pilar's side, in her house? She had children who
would some day sit in judgment upon her conduct and his. And how did he
stand in the eyes of the servants and the visitors whose acquaintance
Pilar had forced upon him? If at least she would give up her outside
circle of friends! But that she either could not or would not do, and
so brought ill-natured witnesses of their relations to the house, and
Wilhelm must needs accommodate himself to an intercourse with
second-rate people who inevitably form the set of a woman whose
domestic circumstances are not clearly, or rather all too clearly
defined. And before these people, who appeared to him greatly inferior
to himself, both morally and intellectually, he was forced to cast down
his eyes. Reflect as he might upon the situation, the result was always
the same--it must be put to an end to. But how?

There remained always the possibility that her husband might die and
she be thus free to marry him. Strange, he always hurried over this
solution of the difficulty. In his inner consciousness he was
apparently not desirous of making the connection a lifelong one, even
if sanctioned by lawful formalities. Leave her. He shuddered at the
thought. It would be criminal to cause her so great a grief, for he was
assured that she loved him passionately, and he was deeply and fondly
grateful to her for doing so. She might some day grow tired of him. He
hoped for this, but the hope was so faint, so secret, so hidden, that
he hardly dared confess it to himself, knowing well that it was a
deadly and altogether undeserved insult to her love. And even this
fain