After this ray of hope, so abruptly put out, the clouds lowered
over him thicker and more hopelessly. He was worse off than the
shipwrecked sailor; the pawnbroker had taken his last resources.
All the romance with which he had invested the idea of his suicide
now vanished, leaving bare the stern and ignoble reality. He must
kill himself, not like the gay gamester who voluntarily leaves upon
the roulette table the remains of his fortune, but like the Greek,
who surprised and hunted, knows that every door will be shut upon
him. His death would not be voluntary; he could neither hesitate
nor choose the fatal hour; he must kill himself because he had not
the means of living one day longer.
And life never before seemed to him so sweet a thing as now. He
never felt so keenly the exuberance of his youth and strength. He
suddenly discovered all about him a crowd of pleasures each more
enviable than the others, which he had never tasted. He who
flattered himself that he had squeezed life to press out its
pleasures, had not really lived. He had had all that is to be
bought or sold, nothing of what is given or achieved. He already
not only regretted giving the ten thousand francs to Jenny, but the
two hundred francs to the servants--nay the six sous given to the
waiter at the restaurant, even the money he had spent on the bunch
of violets.
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