sooner had I done so and won his money for the first time than his
temper became intolerable; his eyes glittered like those of tigers,

his face shrivelled, his brows knit as I never saw brows knit before
or since. His complainings were those of a fretful child. Sometimes he

flung down the dice, quivered with rage, bit the dice-box, and said
insulting things to me. Such violence, however, came to an end. When I

had acquired enough mastery of the game I played it to suit me; I so
managed that we were nearly equal up to the last moment; I allowed him

to win the first half and made matters even during the last half. The
end of the world would have surprised him less than the rapid

superiority of his pupil; but he never admitted it. The unvarying
result of our games was a topic of discourse on which he fastened.

"My poor head," he would say, "is fatigued; you manage to win the last
of the game because by that time I lose my skill."

The countess, who knew backgammon, understood my manoeuvres from the
first, and gave me those mute thanks which swell the heart of a young

man; she granted me the same look she gave to her children. From that
ever-blessed evening she always looked at me when she spoke. I cannot

explain to you the condition I was in when I left her. My soul had
annihilated my body; it weighed nothing; I did not walk, I flew. That

look I carried within me; it bathed me with light just as her last
words, "Adieu, monsieur," still sounded in my soul with the harmonies

of "O filii, o filioe" in the paschal choir. I was born into a new
life, I was something to her! I slept on purple and fine linen. Flames

darted before my closed eyelids, chasing each other in the darkness
like threads of fire in the ashes of burned paper. In my dreams her

voice became, though I cannot describe it, palpable, an atmosphere of
light and fragrancewrapping me, a melody enfolding my spirit. On the

morrow her greeting expressed the fulness of feelings that remained
unuttered, and from that moment I was initiated into the secrets of

her voice.
That day was to be one of the most decisive of my life. After dinner

we walked on the heights across a barren plain where no herbage grew;
the ground was stony, arid, and without vegetable soil of any kind;

nevertheless a few scrub oaks and thorny bushes straggled there, and
in place of grass, a carpet of crimped mosses, illuminated by the

setting sun and so dry that our feet slipped upon it. I held Madeleine
by the hand to keep her up. Madame de Mortsauf was leading Jacques.

The count, who was in front, suddenly turned round and striking the
earth with his cane said to me in a dreadful tone: "Such is my life!--

but before I knew you," he added with a look of penitence at his wife.
The reparation was tardy, for the countess had turned pale; what woman

would not have staggered as she did under the blow?
"But what delightful scenes are wafted here, and what a view of the

sunset!" I cried. "For my part I should like to own this barren moor;
I fancy there may be treasures if we dig for them. But its greatest

wealth is that of being near you. Who would not pay a great cost for
such a view?--all harmony to the eye, with that winding river where

the soul may bathe among the ash-trees and the alders. See the
difference of taste! To you this spot of earth is a barren waste; to

me, it is paradise."
She thanked me with a look.

"Bucolics!" exclaimed the count, with a bitter look. "This is no life
for a man who bears your name." Then he suddenly changed his tone--

"The bells!" he cried, "don't you hear the bells of Azay? I hear them
ringing."

Madame de Mortsauf gave me a frightened look. Madeleine clung to my
hand.

"Suppose we play a game of backgammon?" I said. "Let us go back; the
rattle of the dice will drown the sound of the bells."

We returned to Clochegourde, conversing by fits and starts. Once in
the salon an indefinable uncertainty and dread took possession of us.

The count flung himself into an armchair, absorbed in reverie, which
his wife, who knew the symptoms of his malady and could foresee an

outbreak, was careful not to interrupt. I also kept silence. As she
gave me no hint to leave, perhaps she thought backgammon might divert

the count's mind and quiet those fatal nervous susceptibilities, the
excitements of which were killing him. Nothing was ever harder than to

make him play that game, which, however, he had a great desire to
play. Like a pretty woman, he always required to be coaxed, entreated,

forced, so that he might not seem the obliged person. If by chance,
being interested in the conversation, I forgot to propose it, he grew

sulky, bitter, insulting, and spoiled the talk by contradicting
everything. If, warned by his ill-humor, I suggested a game, he would

dally and demur. "In the first place, it is too late," he would say;
"besides, I don't care for it." Then followed a series of affectations

like those of women, which often leave you in ignorance of their real
wishes.

On this occasion I pretended a wild gaiety to induce him to play. He
complained of giddiness which hindered him from calculating; his

brain, he said, was squeezed into a vice; he heard noises, he was
choking; and thereupon he sighed heavily. At last, however, he

consented to the game. Madame de Mortsauf left us to put the children
to bed and lead the household in family prayers. All went well during

her absence; I allowed Monsieur de Mortsauf to win, and his delight
seemed to put him beside himself. This sudden change from a gloom that

led him to make the darkest predictions to the wild joy of a drunken
man, expressed in a crazy laugh and without any adequate motive,

distressed and alarmed me. I had never seen him in quite so marked a
paroxysm. Our intimacy had borne fruits in the fact that he no longer

restrained himself before me. Day by day he had endeavored to bring me
under his tyranny, and obtain fresh food, as it were, for his evil

temper; for it really seems as though moral diseases were creatures
with appetites and instincts, seeking to enlarge the boundaries of

their empire as a landowner seeks to increase his domain.
Presently the countess came down, and sat close to the backgammon

table, apparently for better light on her embroidery, though the
anxiety which led her to place her frame was ill-concealed. A piece of

fatal ill-luck which I could not prevent changed the count's face;
from gaiety it fell to gloom, from purple it became yellow, and his

eyes rolled. Then followed worse ill-luck, which I could neither avert
nor repair. Monsieur de Mortsauf made a fatal throw which decided the

game. Instantly he sprang up, flung the table at me and the lamp on
the floor, struck the chimney-piece with his fist and jumped, for I

cannot say he walked, about the room. The torrent of insults,
imprecations, and incoherent words which rushed from his lips would

have made an observer think of the old tales of satanic possession in
the Middle Ages. Imagine my position!

"Go into the garden," said the countess, pressing my hand.
I left the room before the count could notice my disappearance. On the

terrace, where I slowly walked about, I heard his shouts and then his
moans from the bedroom which adjoined the dining-room. Also I heard at

intervals through that tempest of sound the voice of an angel, which
rose like the song of a nightingale as the rain ceases. I walked about

under the acacias in the loveliest night of the month of August,
waiting for the countess to join me. I knew she would come; her

gesture promised it. For several days an explanation seemed to float
between us; a word would suffice to send it gushing from the spring,

overfull, in our souls. What timidity had thus far delayed a perfect
understanding between us? Perhaps she loved, as I did, these

quiverings of the spirit which resembled emotions of fear and numbed
the sensibilities while we held our life unuttered within us,

hesitating to unveil its secrets with the modesty of the young girl
before the husband she loves. An hour passed. I was sitting on the

brick balustrade when the sound of her footsteps blending with the
undulating ripple of her flowing gown stirred the calm air of the

night. These are sensations to which the heart suffices not.
"Monsieur de Mortsauf is sleeping," she said. "When he is thus I give

him an infusion of poppies, a cup of water in which a few poppies have
been steeped; the attacks are so infrequent that this simple remedy

never loses its effect--Monsieur," she continued, changing her tone