that gang of Italian soldiers. He knew it--it had pierced him. It had
_got_ him.

But he wanted to say it was not so. Reaching the house, he hastened
upwards to his far-off, lonely room, through the dark corridors. Once
in his own apartment, he shut the door and switched on the light, a
sensation like fear at his heart. Then he searched his other pockets. He
looked everywhere. In vain.

In vain, truly enough. For he _knew_ the thing was stolen. He had known
it all along. The soldiers had deliberately plotted, had deliberately
rushed him and taken his purse. They must have watched him previously.
They must have grinned, and jeered at him.

He sat down in a chair, to recover from the shock. The pocket-book
contained four hundred francs, three one-pound notes, and various
letters and private effects. Well, these were lost. But it was not so
much the loss as the assault on his person that caused him to feel
so stricken. He felt the jeering, gibing blows they had given as they
jostled him.

And now he sat, weak in every limb, and said to himself: "Yes--and if I
hadn't rushed along so full of feeling: if I hadn't exposed myself: if
I hadn't got worked up with the Marchesa, and then rushed all kindled
through the streets, without reserve, it would never have happened. I
gave myself away: and there was someone ready to snatch what I gave. I
gave myself away. It is my own fault. I should have been on my guard.
I should be always on my guard: always, always. With God and the devil
both, I should be on my guard. Godly or devilish, I should hold fast to
my reserve and keep on the watch. And if I don't, I deserve what I get."

But still he sat in his chair in his bedroom, dazed. One part of his
soul was saying emphatically: It serves you right. It is nothing but
right. It serves everybody right who rushes enkindled through the
street, and trusts implicitly in mankind and in the life-spirit, as if
mankind and the life-spirit were a playground for enkindled individuals.
It serves you right. You have paid about twelve pounds sterling for your
lesson. Fool, you might have known beforehand, and then you needn't have
paid at all. You can ill afford twelve pounds sterling, you fool. But
since paid you have, then mind, mind the lesson is learned. Never
again. Never expose yourself again. Never again absolute trust. It is
a blasphemy against life, is absolute trust. Has a wild creature ever
absolute trust? It minds itself. Sleeping or w