XXI


It was quite morning when he fell asleep. And no wonder! In the
blast of that instantaneous summer hurricane, he had almost as
instantaneously felt, not that Gemma was lovely, not that he liked
her--that he had known before ... but that he almost ... loved her!
As suddenly as that blast of wind, had love pounced down upon him.
And then this senseless duel! He began to be tormented by mournful
forebodings. And even suppose they didn't kill him.... What could come
of his love for this girl, another man's betrothed? Even supposing
this 'other man' was no danger, that Gemma herself would care for him,
or even cared for him already ... What would come of it? How ask what!
Such a lovely creature!...

He walked about the room, sat down to the table, took a sheet of
paper, traced a few lines on it, and at once blotted them out....
He recalled Gemma's wonderful figure in the dark window, in the
starlight, set all a-fluttering by the warm hurricane; he remembered
her marble arms, like the arms of the Olympian goddesses, felt their
living weight on his shoulders.... Then he took the rose she had
thrown him, and it seemed to him that its half-withered petals exhaled
a fragrance of her, more delicate than the ordinary scent of the rose.

'And would they kill him straight away or maim him?'

He did not go to bed, and fell asleep in his clothes on the sofa.