"
The count threw himself in an arm-chair and buried his face in his
hands. Why did he not kill himself at once? Why impose on himself
this hour of waiting, of anguish and torture? He could not have told.
He began again to think over the events of his life, reflecting on
the headlong rapidity of the occurrences which had brought him to
that wretched room. How time had passed! It seemed but yesterday
that he first began to borrow. It does little good, however, to a
man who has fallen to the bottom of the abyss, to know the causes
why he fell.
The large hand of the clock had passed the half hour after eleven.
He thought of the newspaper item which he had just read. Who
furnished the information? Doubtless it was Jenny. She had come to
her senses, tearfully hastened after him. When she failed to find
him on the boulevard, she had probably gone to his house, then to
his club, then to some of his friends. So that to-night, at this
very moment, the world was discussing him.
"Have you heard the news?"
"Ah, yes, poor Tremorel! What a romance! A good fellow, only--"
He thought he heard this "only" greeted with laughter and innuendoes.
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