Full resolution (JPEG) - On this page / på denna sida - Part IV - III
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THE CONFESSION OF A FOOL 267
So my beloved wife saw no other way out of her
difficulties than my death. It was her only hope of
escape from the consequences of her indiscretions. When
I was gone, she would cash my life insurance and receive
the pension due to the widow of a famous writer ; then
she would marry again, perhaps, or remain a gay widow
all her life . . . my beloved wife. . . .
MoriUirus suvi! I resolved to hasten the catastrophe
by a liberal recourse to absinthe, sole source of happiness
now, and in the meantime play billiards to calm my
excited brain.
A fresh complication confronted me, worse, if possible,
than any of the previous ones. The authoress who had
pretended to be in love with me made a concjuest of
Marie, and Marie became so devoted to her that her
attachment gave rise to a great deal of gossip. This
roused the jealousy of the authoress’s former "insepar-
able," a fact which was not calculated to contradict
the ugly rumours.
One evening Marie asked me whether I was in love
with her friend. . . .
"No, on the contrary! A common tippler! You
can’t be serious !
"
"I am mad on her," she replied. "It is strange,
isn’t it? ... I am afraid of being alone with her! "
"Why?"
"I don’t know! She is so charming . . . de-
licious. ..."
"Indeed. . .
."
In the following week we invited some of our Paris
friends, artists, without scruples or prejudices, and their
wives.
The men came, but alone ; the wives sent apologies,
so transparent that they amounted to insults.
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