so it seems to me, you might manage to--to love
her a little less."

He had got very pale again, and at length made up his mind to speak to
me openly, as he used to do formerly.

"No," he said, "that is impossible; and I am dying from it I know; it is
killing me, and I am really frightened. Some days, like to-day, I feel
inclined to leave her, to go away altogether, to start for the other end
of the world, so as to live for a long time; and then, when the evening
comes, I return home in spite of myself, but slowly, and feeling
uncomfortable. I go upstairs hesitatingly and ring, and when I go in I
see her there sitting in her easy chair, and she says, 'How late you
are,' I kiss her, and we sit down to dinner. During the meal I think to
myself: 'I will go directly it is over, and take the train for
somewhere, no matter where;' but when we get back to the drawing-room I
am so tired that I have not the courage to get up out of my chair, and
so I remain, and then--and then--I succumb again."

I could not help smiling again. He saw it, and said: "You may laugh, but
I assure you it is very horrible."

"Why don't you tell your wife?" I asked him. "Unless she be a regular
monster she would understand."

He shrugged his shoulders. "It is all very well for you to talk. I don't
tell her because I know her nature. Have you ever heard it said of
certain women, 'She has just married a third time?' Well, and that makes
you laugh like you did just now, and yet it is true. What is to be done?
It is neither her fault nor mine. She is so, because nature has made her
so; I assure you, my dear old friend, she has the temperament of a
Messalina. She does not know it, but I do; so much the worse for me. She
is charming, gentle, tender, and thinks that our conjugal intercourse,
which is wearing me out and killing me, is natural and quite moderate.
She seems like an ignorant schoolgirl, and she really is ignorant, poor
child.

"Every day I form energetic resolutions, for you must understand that I
am dying. But one look of her eyes, one of those looks in which I can
read the ardent desire of her lips, is enough for me, and I succumb at
once, saying to myself: 'This is really the end; I will have no more of
her death-giving kisses,' and then, when I have yielded again, like I
have to-day, I go out and walk on ahead, thinking of death, and saying
to myself that I am lost, that all is over.

"I am so mentally ill that I went for a walk to