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IV
The journey really rejuvenated me. It stirred up the
memories of my early youth and I felt a mad joy surging
in my heart ; I wanted to forget the last two years of
misery, and not for one single moment did I feel inclined
to speak of Marie. The whole tragedy of the divorce
was like a repulsive heap of offal, from which I was eager
to fly without turning round. I could not help smiling
in my sleeve at times, like a fugitive who is firmly resolved
not to be taken again ; I felt like a debtor who has
escaped from his creditors and is hiding in a distant
country.
For two weeks I revelled in the Paris theatres, museums
and libraries. I received no letters from Marie, and was
beginning to hope that she had got over our separation
and that everything was well in the best of all possible
worlds.
But after a certain time I grew tired of wandering
about, and sated with so many new and strong impres-
sions ; things began to lose their interest. I stayed in my
room and read the papers, oppressed by vague appre-
hensions, by an inexplicable uneasiness.
The vision of the white woman, the Fata Morgana of
the virginal mother began to haunt me and disturbed my
peace. The picture of the insolent actress was wiped out
of my memory ; I remembered only the Baroness, young,
beautiful ; her fragile body transfigured and clothed with
the beauty of the Land of Promise, dreamed of by the
ascètes.
I was indulging in those painful and yet delicious dreams
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