store for him. After the preludes of passion, when his whole being was bent on realization, M. Hervart had a moment of weakness. Gratienne's skillful tenderness had certainly overcome it, the self-esteem of both parties had been preserved.
In the morning, he thought of Stendhal, carried the volume to his office and read chapter LX of L'Amour with the greatest attention. He found nothing there to enlighten him. Gratienne, certainly, did not inspire, and indeed no woman had ever inspired, in him that kind of ill-balanced passion in which the body recoils, alarmed at its own boldness.
"Stendhal no doubt had discovered one of the reasons for an absence of apropos, but he has found only one. And besides, all this doesn't belong to psychology; it is physiology. There's nothing but physiology. Bouret will tell me about it."
Bouret, who knew M. Hervart's life, made him relate, point by point, the whole history of his last year. Finally he said: "Well, it's very simple."
Bouret employed no circumlocutions. He
