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208 THE CONFESSION OF A FOOL
She stopped screaming at once—and shot at me a look
of sincere admiration, mingled with deadly hatred.
For a moment I was taken aback, but my reawakened
manhood would not be denied. . . .
Again I lifted the water-bottle
—
"Stop your screaming, or I shall pour this water over
you!
"
She rose to her feet, called me a blackguard, a wretch,
an impostor—signs that my remedy had been effective.
Husbands, duped or otherwise, believe me, for I am
your sincere friend : this is the secret of the great cure
for hysterics ; remember it, maybe the time will come
when you need it.
From that day my death was irrevocably settled. My
love began to detest me. I knew too much of female
cunning ; there was no room for me in this world. The
sex had determined my physical and mental destruction,
and my own wife, as the avenging fury, had accepted the
awful and difficult mission of torturing me to death.
She began her task by introducing her friend into the
house as a tenant, persuading her to rent a furnished room
contiguous to our flat ; she did that in spite of my most
violent opposition. She went to the length of suggesting
that she should take her meals with us, a proposition
which I fought tooth and nail. But notwithstanding my
protest and all my precautions, I was constantly brought
into contact with the intruder. I could almost fancy that
I was a bigamist. The evenings which I should have
spent in my wife’s company I spent by myself, for she
remained invisible, closeted with her friend. They enjoyed
themselves in her room at my expense, smoking my cigar-
ettes and drinking my wine. I hated the woman, and
since I could not hide my feelings—at any rate not
sufTiciently—I many a time brought on my head Marie’s
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