"What is that? It was not here just now."

"It belongs to me," admitted Tournicquot, nervously.

"I see that it belongs to you. Why do you visit an empty house with a
coil of rope, hein? I should like to understand that ... Upon my life,
you were here on the same business as myself! Now if this does not pass
all forbearance! You come to commit suicide, and yet you have the
effrontery to put a stop to mine!"

"Well," exclaimed Tournicquot, "I obeyed an impulse of pity! It is true
that I came to destroy myself, for I am the most miserable of men; but
I was so much affected by the sight of your sufferings that temporarily
I forgot my own."

"That is a lie, for I was not suffering--I was not conscious when you
came in. However, you have some pretty moments in front of you, so we
will say no more! When you feel yourself drop, it will be diabolical, I
promise you; the hair stands erect on the head, and each spot of blood
in the veins congeals to a separate icicle! It is true that the drop
itself is swift, but the clutch of the rope, as you kick in the air, is
hardly less atrocious. Do not be encouraged by the delusion that the
matter is instantaneous. Time mocks you, and a second holds the
sensations of a quarter of an hour. What has forced you to it? We need
not stand on ceremony with each other, hein?"

"I have resolved to die because life is torture," said Tournicquot, on
whom these details had made an unfavourable impression.