Gerfaut had suffered tortures since leaving the little parlor. A feeling
of regret and deepest pity, at the thought of the inevitable catastrophe
which must follow, had softened his heart. He saw in the most odious of
colors the selfishness of his love. Clemence's last glance as she fell
fainting at his feet--a forgiving and a loving glance--was like a dagger
in his heart. He had ruined her! the woman he loved! the queen of his
life! the angel he adored! This idea was like hell to him. He was
almost unable to control his emotion, dizzy as he was on the brink of the
abyss opened by his hand, into which he had precipitated what he counted
as the dearest part of his own self.

Bergenheim stood, cold and sombre, like a northern sky, opposite this
pale-faced man, upon whose countenance a thousand passionate emotions
were depicted like clouds on a stormy day.

When Bergenheim's eyes met Octave's, they were so full of vengeance and
hatred that the latter trembled as if he had come in contact with a wild
beast. The lover actually realized the inferiority of his attitude in
the presence of this enraged husband. A feeling of self-pride and
indignation came to his aid. He put aside remorse and regrets until
later; these sad expiations were forbidden him now; another duty lay
before him. There is only one reparation possible for certain offences.
The course once open, one must go to its very end; pardon is to be found
only upon the tomb of the offended.

Octave knew he had to submit to this necessity. He stifled all scruples
which might have weakened his firmness, and resumed his habitual
disdainful look. His eyes returned his enemy's glance of deadly hatred,
and he began the conversation like a man who is accustomed to master the