of it, and so much the
worse for you. Well, I had made a mistake, but it was worse than I
thought, much worse. Just listen. I employed the means which a man
always does under such circumstances, and pretended that I was going to
be away from home for a day, and whenever I did this my wife went out to
lunch. I need not tell you how I bribed a waiter in the restaurant to
which they used to go, so that I might surprise them.

"He was to open the door of their private room for me and I arrived at
the appointed time, with the fixed determination of killing them both. I
could see the whole scene, just as if it had already occurred! I could
see myself going in. A small table covered with glasses, bottles and
plates separated her from Montina, and they would be so surprised when
they saw me, that they would not even attempt to move, and without a
word, I should bring down the loaded stick which I had in my hand, on
the man's head. Killed by one blow, he would fall with his head on the
table, and then, turning towards her, I should leave her time--a few
moments--to understand it all and to stretch out her arms towards me,
mad with terror, before dying in her turn. Oh! I was ready, strong,
determined, and pleased, madly pleased at the idea. The idea of the
terrified look that she would throw at my raised stick, of her arms that
she would stretch out to me, of her horrified cry, of her livid and
convulsed looks, avenged me beforehand. I would not kill her at one
blow! You will think me cruel, I dare say; but you do not know what a
man suffers. To think that a woman, whether she be wife or mistress,
whom one loves, gives herself to another, yields herself up to him as
she does to you, and receives kisses from his lips, as she does from
yours! It is a terrible, an atrocious thing to think of. When one feels
that torture, one is ready for anything. I only wonder that more women
are not murdered, for every man who has been deceived longs to commit
murder, has dreamt of it in the solitude of his own room, or on a
deserted road, and has been haunted by the one fixed idea of satisfied
vengeance.

"I arrived at the restaurant, and asked whether they were there. The
waiter whom I had bribed replied: 'Yes, Monsieur,' and taking me
upstairs, he pointed to a door, and said: 'That is the room!' So I
grasped my stick, as if my fingers had been made of iron, and went in. I
had chosen a most appropriate moment, for they were kissing most
lovin