build my dreams upon it?--to love all the more because of the
mystery? Mystery is the last word and the completing charm to a
young man's passion. Few sonnets have been written to wives
whose matrimony is more than five years of age--is it not so?



Chapter Two


When my hour was finished and I in liberty to leave that
horrible corner, I pushed out of the crowd and walked down the
boulevard, my hat covering my sin, and went quickly. To be in
love with my mystery, I thought, that was a strange happiness!
It was enough. It was romance! To hear a voice which speaks two
sentences of pity and silver is to have a chime of bells in the
heart. But to have a shaven head is to be a monk! And to have a
shaven head with a sign painted upon it is to be a pariah. Alas!
I was a person whom the Parisians laughed at, not with!

Now that at last my martyrdom was concluded, I had some
shuddering, as when one places in his mouth a morsel of
unexpected flavour. I wondered where I had found the courage to
bear it, and how I had resisted hurling myself into the river,
though, as is known, that is no longer safe, for most of those
who attempt it are at once rescued, arrested, fined, and
imprisoned for throwing bodies into the Seine, which is
forbidden.

At the theatre the frightful badge was removed from my head-top