the
least little spot of mud from my boot! The petty pangs of these nameless
torments, which an irritable man finds so great, only strengthened my
passion.

"The unfortunate must make sacrifices which they may not mention to
women who lead refined and luxurious lives. Such women see things
through a prism that gilds all men and their surroundings. Egoism leads
them to take cheerful views, and fashion makes them cruel; they do
not wish to reflect, lest they lose their happiness, and the absorbing
nature of their pleasures absolves their indifference to the misfortunes
of others. A penny never means millions to them; millions, on the
contrary, seem a mere trifle. Perhaps love must plead his cause by great
sacrifices, but a veil must be lightly drawn across them, they must go
down into silence. So when wealthy men pour out their devotion,
their fortunes, and their lives, they gain somewhat by these commonly
entertained opinions, an additional lustre hangs about their lovers'
follies; their silence is eloquent; there is a grace about the drawn
veil; but my terrible distress bound me over to suffer fearfully or ever
I might speak of my love or of dying for her sake.

"Was it a sacrifice after all? Was I not richly rewarded by the joy I
took in sacrificing everything to her? There was no commonest event of
my daily life to which the countess had not given importance, had not
overfilled with happiness. I had been hitherto careless of my clothes,
now I respected my coat as if it had been a second self. I should not
have hesitated between bodily harm and a tear in that garment. You must
enter wholly into my circumstances to understand the stormy thoughts,
the gathering frenzy, that shook me as I went, and which, perhaps, were
increased by my walk. I gloated in an infernal fashion which I cannot
describe over the absolute completeness of my wretchedness. I would
have drawn from it an augury of my future, but there is no limit to the
possibilities of misfortune. The door of my lodging-house stood ajar.
A light streamed from the heart-shaped opening cut in the shutters.
Pauline and her mother were sitting up for me and talking. I heard my
name spoken, and listened.

"'Raphael is much nicer-looking than the student in number seven,' said
Pauline; 'his fair hair is such a pretty color. Don't you think there is
something in his voice, too, I don't know what it is, that gives you a
sort of a thrill? And, then, though he may be a lit