"
He could not forgive his friend for being so rich, so happy, so
highly respected, for having known how to regulate his life, while
he had exhausted his own fortune at thirty. And should he not seize
so good an opportunity to avenge himself for the favors which
overwhelmed him?
"Have I run after his wife?" said he to himself, trying to impose
silence on his conscience. "She comes to me of her own will,
herself, without the least temptation from me. I should be a fool
if I repelled her."
Conceit has irresistible arguments. Hector, when he entered the
house, had made up his mind. He did not fly. Yet he had the excuse
neither of passion nor of temptation; he did not love her, and his
infamy was deliberate, coldly premeditated. Between her and him a
chain more solid than mutual attraction was riveted; their common
hatred of Sauvresy. They owed too much to him. His hand had held
both from degradation.
The first hours of their mutual understanding were spent in angry
words, rather than the cooings of love. They perceived too clearly
the disgrace of their conduct not to try to reassure each other
against their remorse.
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