lost to me. . . . On Sundays I used to loiter at the
railway stations where I mingled with the merry
crowds, among petty officials and workingmen leaving town with their families to get a little fresh air for their affected lungs, to gather a little strength to
be able to withstand the fatigue of their work during
the week. I followed the steps of some laborer whose
face interested me; I would have liked to possess his
bent back, his deformed hands turned brown through
hard work, his stiff walk, his trusting eyes of a house
dog. . . . Alas! . . I would have liked to have everything I did not have, to be everybody that I was not! . . . These wanderings which rendered the realization
of my downfall even more painful, did me some good,
however, and I used to come home each time with
all sorts of courageous resolutions. . . . But in the
evening I would see Juliette again, and Juliette was
to me the oblivion of all honor and all duty.
Above the houses the sky was brightened by a feeble light announcing the approaching dawn, and at the end of the street, in the shadow, I noticed two glaring points, the two lights of a carriage, vacillating, swerving, approaching, which resembled two errant gas lamps. . . . Hope revived in me for a moment. . . the carriage came nearer, dancing on the pavement, the lights grew larger, the rattling quickened. . . I thought I recognized the familiar trundling of Juliette's brougham! . . . But no! . . . Suddenly the carriage turned to the left and disappeared. . . . Within an hour it would already be day!
"She won't come! . . . This time it is all over, she won't come!"
I closed the window, lay down again on the sofa, blood surging in my temples, all my members aching. . . . . In vain I tried to sleep. . . . I could not do anything but weep, cry out:
