existence and lives like a princess, that is all."

"I love her," he murmured in a tone in which he might have said "I am
going to die." Then suddenly he continued:

"Ah! For three years we lived in a state of terror and delight. I almost
killed her five or six times. She tried to pierce my eyes with that
hairpin that you saw just now. Look, do you see that little white spot
beneath my left eye? We loved each other. How can I explain that
infatuation? You would not understand it."

"There must be a simple form of love, the result of the mutual impulse of
two hearts and two souls. But there is also assuredly an atrocious form,
that tortures one cruelly, the result of the occult blending of two
unlike personalities who detest each other at the same time that they
adore one another."

"In three years this woman had ruined me. I had four million francs which
she squandered in her calm manner, quietly, eat them up with a gentle
smile that seemed to fall from her eyes on to her lips."

"You know her? There is something irresistible about her. What is it? I
do not know. Is it those gray eyes whose glance penetrates you like a
gimlet and remains there like the point of an arrow? It is more likely
the gentle, indifferent and fascinating smile that she wears like a mask.
Her slow grace pervades you little by little; exhales from her like a
perfume, from her slim figure that scarcely sways as she passes you, for
she seems to glide rather than walk; from her pretty voice with its
slight drawl that would seem to be the music of her smile; from her
gestures, also, which are never exaggerated, but always appropriate, and