The bouquet still hung in his buttonhole, faded and
shrivelled. What good did it do him? While the sous which he had
paid for it--! He did not think of his wasted millions, but could
not drive away the thought of that wasted franc!
True, he might, if he chose, find plenty of money still, and easily.
He had only to return quietly to his house, to discharge the bailiffs,
and to resume the possession of his remaining effects. But he would
thus confront the world, and confess his terrors to have overcome
him at the last moment; he would have to suffer glances more cruel
than the pistol-ball. The world must not be deceived; when a man
announces that he is going to kill himself--he must kill himself.
So Hector was going to die because he had said he would, because
the newspapers had announced the fact. He confessed this to himself
as he went along, and bitterly reproached himself.
He remembered a pretty spot in Viroflay forest, where he had once
fought a duel; he would commit the deed there. He hastened toward
it. The weather was fine and he met many groups of young people
going into the country for a good time. Workmen were drinking and
clinking their glasses under the trees along the river-bank.
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