Painful MomentsAnd she admits it to me! She goes into the minutest details! Herlovely eye fixed on mine reveals the love that she felt for another!

SCHILLERMademoiselle de La Mole, in an ecstasy, could think only of the felicityof having come within an inch of being killed. She went so far as to sayto herself: 'He is worthy to be my master, since he has been on the pointof killing me. How many of the good-looking young men in societywould one have to fuse together to arrive at such an impulse of passion?

'One must admit that he did look handsome when he climbed on thechair, to replace the sword, precisely in the picturesque position whichthe decorator had chosen for it! After all, I was not such a fool to fall inlove with him.'

At that moment, had any honourable way of renewing their relationspresented itself, she would have seized it with pleasure. Julien, lockedand double-locked in his room, was a prey to the most violent despair. Inthe height of his folly, he thought of flinging himself at her feet. If, instead of remaining hidden in a remote corner, he had wandered throughthe house and into the garden, so as to be within reach of any opportunity, he might perhaps in a single instant have converted his fearfulmisery into the keenest happiness.

But the adroitness with the want of which we are reproaching himwould have debarred the sublime impulse of seizing the sword which, atthat moment, made him appear so handsome in the eyes of Mademoiselle de La Mole. This caprice, which told in Julien's favour, lasted for therest of the day; Mathilde formed a charming impression of the brief moments during which she had loved him, and looked back on them withregret.

'Actually,' she said to herself, 'my passion for that poor boy lasted, inhis eyes, only from one o'clock in the morning, when I saw him arrive byhis ladder, with all his pistols in the side pocket of his coat, until eight. Itwas at a quarter past eight, when hearing mass at Sainte-Valere, that itfirst occurred to me that he would imagine himself to be my master, andmight try to make me obey him by force of terror.'

After dinner, Mademoiselle de La Mole, far from avoiding Julien,spoke to him, and almost ordered him to accompany her to the garden;he obeyed. This proved too much for her self-control. Mathilde yielded,almost unconsciously, to the love which she began to feel for him. Shefound an intense pleasure in strolling by his side, it was with curiositythat she gazed at his hands which that morning had seized the sword tokill her.

After such an action, after all that had passed, there could no longer beany question of their conversing on the same terms as before.

Gradually Mathilde began to talk to him with an intimate confidenceof the state of her heart. She found a strange delight in this kind of conversation; she proceeded to tell him of the fleeting impulses of enthusiasm which she had felt for M. de Croisenois, for M. de Caylus ...'What! For M. de Caylus as well!' cried Julien; and all the bitter jealousy of a past jilted lover was made manifest in his words. Mathilde received them in that light, and was not offended.

She continued to torture Julien, detailing her past feelings in the mostpicturesque fashion, and in accents of the most absolute sincerity. Hesaw that she was describing what was present before her eyes. He hadthe grief of remarking that as she spoke she made fresh discoveries inher own heart.

The agony of jealousy can go no farther.

The suspicion that a rival is loved is painful enough already, but tohave the love that he inspires in her confessed to one in detail by the woman whom one adores is without doubt the acme of suffering.

Oh, how she punished, at that moment, the impulse of pride whichhad led Julien to set himself above all the Caylus and Croisenois! Withwhat an intense and heartfelt misery he now exaggerated their mosttrivial advantages! With what ardent sincerity he now despised himself!

Mathilde seemed adorable to him, language fails to express the intensity of his admiration. As he walked by her side, he cast furtive glances at her hands, her arms, her regal bearing. He was on the point of falling ather feet, crushed with love and misery, and crying: 'Pity!'

'And this creature who is so lovely, so superior to all the rest, who hasonce loved me, it is M. de Caylus whom, no doubt, she will presently beloving!'

Julien could not doubt Mademoiselle de La Mole's sincerity; the accentof truth was all too evident in everything that she said. That absolutelynothing might be wanting to complete his misery, there were momentswhen, by dint of occupying her mind with the sentiments which she hadat one time felt for M. de Caylus, Mathilde was led to speak of him asthough she loved him still. Certainly there was love in her accents, Juliencould see it plainly.

Had his bosom been flooded with a mass of molten lead, he wouldhave suffered less. How, arrived at this extreme pitch of misery, was thepoor boy to guess that it was because she was talking to him that Mademoiselle de La Mole found such pleasure in recalling all the niceties oflove that she had felt in the past for M. de Caylus or M. de Luz?

No words could express Julien's anguish. He was listening to the detailed confidences of the love felt for others in that same lime walkwhere, so few days since, he had waited for one o'clock to strike beforemaking his way into her room. Human nature is incapable of enduringmisery at a higher pitch than this.

This kind of cruel intimacy lasted for a whole week. Mathilde now appeared to seek, now did not shun opportunities of speaking to him; andthe subject of conversation, to which they seemed both to return with asort of torturing pleasure, was the recital of the sentiments that she hadfelt for others; she recounted to him the letters that she had written, toldhim the very words of them, repeated whole sentences. On the final daysshe seemed to be studying Julien with a sort of malignant delight. Hissufferings were a source of keen enjoyment to her.

We can see that Julien had no experience of life, he had not even readany novels; if he had been a little less awkward, and had said with a certain coldness to this girl, whom he so adored and who made him suchstrange confidences: 'Admit that though I am not the equal of all thesegentlemen, it is still myself that you love ... '

Perhaps she would have been glad to have her secret guessed; at anyrate his success would have depended entirely upon the grace withwhich Julien expressed this idea, and the moment that he chose.

However that might be, he came out well, and yith advantage to himself, from a situation which was tending to become monotonous in Mathilde'seyes.

'And you no longer love me, me who adore you!' Julien said |o herone day, desperate with love and misery. It was almost She worst blunder that he could have made.

This speech destroyed in an instant all the pleasure that lademoisellede La Mole found in speaking to him of the state of her heart. She wasbeginning to feel astonished that after what had happened he did nottake offence at her confidences, he was on the point of imagining, at themoment when he made this foolish speech, that perhaps he no longerloved her. 'Pride has doubtless quenched his love,' she said to herself.

'He is not the man to see himself set with impunity beneath creatures likeCaylus, de Luz, Croisenois, who he admits are so far his superiors. No, Ishall never see him at my feet again!'

On the preceding days, in the artlessness of his misery, Julien had paida heartfelt tribute to the brilliant qualities of these gentlemen; he went sofar as to exaggerate them. This change of attitude had by no means escaped the notice of Mademoiselle de La Mole; it had surprised her, butshe did not suspect the reason or it. Julien's frenzied soul, in praising arival whom he believed to be loved, sympathised with that rival in hisgood fortune.

This speech, so frank but so stupid, altered the whole situation an instant: Mathilde, certain of being loved, despised him completely.

She was strolling with him at the moment of this unfortunate utterance; she left him, and her final glance was expressive of the most bitterscorn. Returning to the drawing-room, for the rest of the evening shenever looked at him again. Next day, this scorn of him had entire possession of her heart; there was no longer any question of the impulse which,for a whole week, had made her find such pleasure in treating Julien asher most intimate friend; the sight of him was repulsive to her.

Mathilde's feeling reached the point of disgust; no words could expressthe intensity of the scorn that she felt when her eyes happened to fall onhim.

Julien had understood nothing of all that had been happening inMathilde's heart, but for the past week he discerned her scorn. He hadthe good sense to appear in her presence as rarely as possible, and neverlooked her in the face.

But it was not without a mortal anguish that he deprived himself tosome extent of her company. He thought he could feel that his misery was thereby actually increased. 'The courage of a man's heart can go nofarther,' he told himself. He spent all his time at a little window in the attics of the house; the shutters were carefully closed, and from there, atleast, he could catch a glimpse of Mademoiselle de La Mole when she appeared in the garden.

What were his feelings when, after dinner, he saw her strolling withM. de Caylus, M. de Luz or any of the others for whom she had avowedsome slight amorous inclination in the past?

Julien had had no idea of such an intensity of misery; he was on thepoint of crying aloud; that resolute heart was at last reduced to utterhelplessness.

Any thought that was not of Mademoiselle de La Mole had becomeodious to him; he was incapable of writing the most simple letters.

'You are crazy,' the Marquis said to him.

Julien, trembling with fear of a disclosure, pleaded illness and managed to make himself believed. Fortunately for him, the Marquis teasedhim at dinner over his coming journey: Mathilde gathered that it mightbe prolonged. For several days now Julien had been avoiding her, andthe brilliant young men who had everything that was lacking in thiscreature so pale and sombre, once loved by her, had no longer the powerto distract her from her dreams.

'An ordinary girl,' she said to herself, 'would have sought for the manof her choice among the young fellows who attract every eye in adrawing-room; but one of the characteristics of genius is not to let itsthoughts move in the rut traced by the common herd.

'As the partner of such a man as Julien, who lacks nothing but the fortune which I possess, I shall continue to attract attention, I shall by nomeans pass unperceived through life. So far from incessantly dreading aRevolution like my cousins, who, in their fear of the people, dare notscold a postilion who drives them badly, I shall be certain of playing apart and a great part, for the man of my choice has character and an unbounded ambition. What does he lack? Friends? Money? I can give himall that.' But in her thoughts she treated Julien rather as an inferior beingwho can be made to love one when one wills.