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126 THE CONFESSION OF A FOOL
translated it means, the desire of a woman for children,
moderated and disguised by time and the conventions, but
suddenly breaking out with irresistible force.
This woman, always living in a state of semi-celibacy,
unwilling to take upon herself the burden of motherhood,
and yet dissatisfied with the incompleteness of her married
life, was driven into the arms of a lover, to the commission
of a crime, and, at the very moment when she thought
that her lover was incontestably hers, he slipped through
her fingers, and he, too, left her unsatisfied.
How miserable a mistake was matrimony ! How pitiful
a passion was love !
When I had finished my analysis I had come to the
conclusion that the unsatisfactory nature of their relation-
ship liad driven both husband and wife to seek happiness
elsewhere. The disappointment at my flight had brought
the Baroness back into the arms of her husband, whose
love had received a fresh stimulus, and who would hence-
forth strive to make her more happy.
They were reconciled, and everything was at an end.
Exit the devil.
The curtain falls.
No, it was not at an end.
She visited me again in my room, and I drew from her
a full confession, brutal in its candour.
In the first year of her marriage she kncAv nothing of
the ecstasies of love. After her baby was born, her hus-
band grew indifferent to her, and their relations became
strained.
’’
Then you’ve never been happy with this man with the
physique of a giant? "
"Never . . . sometimes perhaps . . . hardly ever."
’^And now?"
She blushed.
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