d now be
different. With jealousy, his state of mind had only as yet, in common,
a devouring curiosity and a morbid imagination, which allowed him to
picture the two of them in situations he would once have blushed to
think of. For the one thing that now mattered to him, what he would
have given his life to know, and would probably never know, was
concerned with the ultimate ratification of love. What had she had for
the other that she could not give him?--that she wilfully refrained
from giving him? For that she did this, and always had refused him part
of herself, was now as plain to him as if it had been branded on her
flesh. And the knowledge undermined their lives. If she was gentle and
kind, he read into her words pity that she could give him no more; if
she were cold and evasive, she was remembering, comparing; if she
returned his kisses with her former warmth--well, the thoughts which in
this case seized him were the most murderous of all.

His mental activity ground him down. But it was not all unhappiness;
the beloved eyes and hands, the wilful hair, and pale, sweet mouth,
could still stir him; and there came hours of wishless well-being, when
his tired brain found rest. As the days went by, however, these grew
rarer; it also seemed to him that he paid dearly for them, by being
afterwards more miserable, by suffering in a more active way.

At times, he knew, he was anything but a pleasant companion. But he was
losing the mastery over himself, and often a trifle was sufficient to
start him off afresh on the dreary theme. Once, in a fit of
hopelessness, he made her what amounted to reproaches for her past.

"But you knew!--everythinging!--I told you all," Louise expostulated,
and there were tears in her eyes.

"I know you did. But Louise"--he hesitated, half contrite in advance,
for what he was going to say--"it might have been better if you hadn't
told me--everything, I mean. Yes, I believe it's better not to know."

She did not reply, as she might have done, that she had forewarned him,
afraid of this. She looked away, so that she should not be obliged to
see him.

Another day, when they were walking in the ROSENTAL, she made him
extremely unhappy by disagreeing with him.

"If one could just take a sponge and wipe the past out, like figures
from a slate!" he said moodily.

But, jaded by his persistency, Louise would not admit it. "We should
have nothing to remember."

"That's just it."

"But it be