lingered in my ears.
Those two cries, not shouted but uttered in a low scarcely audible
voice, who shall declare their grandeur and the distance between them?

Who shall say? Above all, who shall know?

The man who can reply must be placed, as I am, above humanity, he must
be both among and apart from human beings to see the smile turn into
agony, the joy become satiety, and the union dissolve. For when you
take full part in life you do not see this, you know nothing about it.
You pass blindly from one extreme to the other. The man who uttered
the two cries that I still hear, "Everything!" and "Nothing!" had
forgotten the first when he was carried away by the second.

Who shall say? I wish some one would tell. What do words matter or
conventions? Of what use is the time-honoured custom of writers of
genius or mere talent to stop at the threshold of these descriptions,
as if full descriptions were forbidden? The thing ought to be sung in
a poem, in a masterpiece. It ought to be told down to the very bottom,
if the purpose be to show the creative force of our hopes, of our
wishes, which, when they burst into light, transform the world,
overthrow reality.

What richer alms could you bestow on these two lovers, when again love
will die between them? For this scene is not the last in their double
story. They will begin again, like every human being. Once more they
will try together, as much as they can, to seek shelter from life's
defeats, to find ecstasy, to conquer death. Once more they will seek
solace and deliverance. Again they will be seized by a thrill, by the
force of sin, which clings to the flesh like a shred of flesh.

Yet once again, when once again they see that they put infinity into
desire all in vain, they will be punished for the grandeur of their
aspiration.

I do not regret having surprised this simple, terrible secret. Perhaps
my having taken in and retained this sight in all its breadth, my
having learned that the living truth is sadder and more sublime than I
had ever believed, will be my sole glory.

CHAPTER VI

All was silent. They were gone. They had hidden elsewhere. The
husband was coming. I gathered that from what they had said. But did
I really know what they had said?

I paced up and down in my room, then dined, as in a dream, and went
out, lured by humanity.

A cafe! The bright lighting beckoned to me to enter. Calm, simple,
care-free people, who have n