nomy mingled with
that which he had visualized when the first letters came.

Though the sneaking scoundrelism of her husband displeased him, he did
not think her the less attractive, but his desires were no longer beyond
control. In spite of the distrust which she aroused, she might be an
interesting mistress, making up for her barefaced vices by her good
grace, but she was no longer the non-existent, the chimera raised in a
moment of uncertainty.

On the other hand, if his conjectures were false, if it was not Mme.
Chantelouve who had written the letters, then the other, the unknown,
lost a little of her subtlety by the mere fact that she could be
incarnated in a creature whom he knew. Still remote, she became less so;
then her beauty deteriorated, because, in turn, she took on certain
features of Mme. Chantelouve, and if the latter had profited, the
former, on the contrary, lost by the confusion which Durtal had
established.

In one as in the other case, whether she were Mme. Chantelouve or not,
he felt appeased, calmed. At heart he did not know, when he revolved the
adventure, whether he preferred his chimera, even diminished, or this
Hyacinthe, who at least, in her reality, was not a disenchanting frump,
wrinkled with age. He profited by the respite to get back to work, but
he had presumed too much upon his powers. When he tried to begin his
chapter on the crimes of Gilles de Rais he discovered that he was
incapable of sewing two sentences together. He wandered in pursuit of
the Marshal and caught up with him, but the prose in which he wished to
embody the man remained listless and lifeless, and he could think only
patchily.

He threw down his pen and sank into an armchair. In revery he was
transported to Tiffauges, where Satan, who had refused so obstinately to
show himself, now became incarnate in the unwitting Marshal, to wallow
him, vociferating, in the joys of murder.

"For this, basically, is what Satanism is," said Durtal to himself. "The
external semblance of the Demon is a minor matter. He has no need of
exhibiting himself in human or bestial form to attest his presence. For
him to prove himself, it is enough that he choose a domicile in souls
which he ulcerates and incites to inexplicable crimes. Then, he can hold
his victims by that hope which he breathes into them, that instead of
living in them as he does, and as they don't often know, he will obey
evocations, appear to them, and deal out, duly, l