That this superb woman, in whom he had seen all
human grace and household force, should turn from him and all the
brightness that he offered her--him and his future and his fortune and
his fidelity--to muffle herself in ascetic rags and entomb herself in a
cell was a confounding combination of the inexorable and the grotesque.
As the image deepened before him the grotesque seemed to expand and
overspread it; it was a reduction to the absurd of the trial to which
he was subjected. "You--you a nun!" he exclaimed; "you with your beauty
defaced--you behind locks and bars! Never, never, if I can prevent it!"
And he sprang to his feet with a violent laugh.
"You can't prevent it," said Madame de Cintre, "and it ought--a
little--to satisfy you. Do you suppose I will go on living in the world,
still beside you, and yet not with you? It is all arranged. Good-by,
good-by."
This time he took her hand, took it in both his own. "Forever?" he
said. Her lips made an inaudible movement and his own uttered a deep
imprecation. She closed her eyes, as if with the pain of hearing it;
then he drew her towards him and clasped her to his breast. He kissed
her white face; for an instant she resisted and for a moment she
submitted; then, with force, she disengaged herself and hurried away
over the long shining floor.
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