She buried her face in her hands, then stared out into the night.
Suddenly she uttered a short, harsh laugh.

`Down below, the sea rustled to and fro over the shingle.'

I decided that I must choose the first of these two ways. It was the
less chivalrous as well as the less lurid way, but clearly it was the
more artistic as well as the easier. The `chose vue,' the `tranche de
la vie'--this was the thing to aim at. Honesty was the best policy. I
must be nothing if not merciless. Maupassant was nothing if not
merciless. He would not have spared Mlle. Ange'lique. Besides, why
should I libel M. Joumand? Poor--no, not poor M. Joumand! I warned
myself against pitying him. One touch of `sentimentality,' and I
should be lost. M. Joumand was ridiculous. I must keep him so. But--
what was his position in life? Was he a lawyer perhaps?--or the
proprietor of a shop in the Rue de Rivoli? I toyed with the
possibility that he kept a fan shop--that the business had once been a
prosperous one, but had gone down, down, because of his infatuation
for this woman to whom he was always giving fans--which she always
smashed.... `"Ah monsieur, cruel and ungrateful to me though she is, I
swear to you that if I had anything left to give, it should be hers;
but," he stared at me with his old hopeless eyes, "the fan she broke
to-night was the last--the last, monsieur--of my stock." Down below,'-
-but I pulled myself together, and asked pardon of my Muse.

It may be that I had offended her by my fooling. Or it may be that she
had a sisterly desire to shield Mlle. Ange'lique from my mordant art.
Or it may be that she was bent on saving M. de Maupassant from a
dangerous rivalry. Anyway, she withheld from me the inspiration I had
so confidently solicited. I could not think what had led up to that