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THE CONFESSION OF A FOOL 29
captain marching by at the head of his Guards. He
looked up at my window and acknowledged my presence
with a nod and a smile. The band was playing his wife’s
favourite piece, at his orders, and the unsuspicious
musicians had no inkling that they played it in her honour
for him and for me, and before an even less auspicious
audience.
Half-an-hour later the Baron called for me at the
library. I took him through the passages in the base-
ment, overcrowded with cupboards and shelves, into the
manuscript room. He looked cheerful, and at once com-
municated to me the contents of a letter he had received
from his wife. All was going on well. She had enclosed
a note for me. I devoured it with my eyes, trying hard
to hide my excitement. She thanked me frankly and
graciously for having looked after ’"her old man "; she
said she had felt flattered by my evident grief at parting,
and added that she was staying with my "guardian
angel," to whom she was getting more and more attached.
She expressed great admiration for her character, and,
in conclusion, held out hopes of a happy ending. That
was all.
So she was in love with me, this "guardian angel " of
mine ! This monster ! The very thought of her now
filled me with horror. I was compelled to act the part
of a lover against my will ; I was condemned to play an
abominable farce, perhaps all my life long. The truth
of the old adage that one cannot play with fire without
burning one’s fingers came home to me with terrible
force. Caught in my own trap, I pictured to myself in
my wrath the detestable creature who had forced herself
upon me : she had the eyes of a Mongolian, a sallow face,
red arms. With angry satisfaction I recalled her seduc-
tive ways, her suspicious behaviour, which more than once
had set my friends wondering what species of woman it
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