I had no intention of getting up a scene
with M. Pelet, reproaching him with perfidy, sending him a challenge, or
performing other gambadoes of the sort--I hit at last on the
expedient of walking out in the cool of the morning to a neighbouring
establishment of baths, and treating myself to a bracing plunge.
The remedy produced the desired effect. I came back at seven o'clock
steadied and invigorated, and was able to greet M. Pelet, when he
entered to breakfast, with an unchanged and tranquil countenance; even
a cordial offering of the hand and the flattering appellation of "mon
fils," pronounced in that caressing tone with which Monsieur had, of
late days especially, been accustomed to address me, did not elicit any
external sign of the feeling which, though subdued, still glowed at
my heart. Not that I nursed vengeance--no; but the sense of insult and
treachery lived in me like a kindling, though as yet smothered coal. God
knows I am not by nature vindictive; I would not hurt a man because I
can no longer trust or like him; but neither my reason nor feelings
are of the vacillating order--they are not of that sand-like sort where
impressions, if soon made, are as soon effaced. Once convinced that my
friend's disposition is incompatible with my own, once assured that he
is indelibly stained with certain defects obnoxious to my principles,
and I dissolve the connection. I did so with Edward. As to Pelet, the
discovery was yet new; should I act thus with him? It was the question I
placed before my mind as I stirred my cup of coffee with a half-pistolet
(we never had spoons), Pelet meantime being seated opposite, his pallid
face looking as knowing and more haggard than usual, his blue eye
turned, now sternly on his boys and ushers, and now graciously on me.

"Circumstances must guide me," said I; and meeting Pelet's false glance
and insinuating smile, I thanked heaven that I had last night opened
my window and read by the light of a full moon the true meaning of that
guileful countenance. I felt half his master, because the reality of
his nature was now known to me; smile and flatter as he would, I saw his
soul lurk behind his smile, and heard in every one of his smooth phrases
a voice interpreting their treacherous import.

But Zoraide Reuter? Of course her defection had cut me to the quick?
That stint; must have gone too deep for any consolations of philosophy
to be available in curing its smart? Not at all. The night fe