"In whatever place I was, whatever
occupation I imposed on myself, I
could not think of women, the sight
of a woman made me tremble. How
many times have I risen at night,
bathed in sweat, to fasten my mouth
on our ramparts, feeling myself ready
to suffocate."

A. DE MUSSET (_Confession d'un enfant du Siècle_).

It was the other. He was soon obliged to confess this to himself; for
slumber abandoned his couch.

In vain in the day-time he wearied his body under the labour which kills
thought. He sought to fly from the seductive image. He did not go out, for
fear of seeing her. He rushed upon every hard and unfruitful labour that he
could find. He rooted up his trees in order to re-plant them elsewhere; dug
useless banks in his garden; changed his library from its place, and
carried one after another his enormous folios to the upper story. He would
have liked to go upon the road, sit at the bottom of some ditch, and take
the stone-breaker's hammer.

But the thought which he silenced by day, took its revenge by night. How
many times, during the long silent hours, his servant heard him get up all
at once and march with long steps in his room, as if he had to accomplish
some terrible vow.

It was the devil, whispering low mysterious words in his ear, while his
impetuous desires constrained him with all the power of his vitality. He