Desgenais was in good humor; stretching out on my sofa he began to chaff me about the appearance of my face which looked, he said, as though I had not slept well. As I was little disposed to indulge in pleasantry I begged him to spare me.
He appeared to pay no attention to me, but warned by my tone he soon broached the subject that had brought him to me. He informed me that my mistress had not only two lovers at a time, but three, that is to say she had treated my rival as badly as she had treated me; the poor boy having discovered her inconstancy made a great ado and all Paris knew it. At first I did not catch the meaning of Desgenais' words as I was not listening attentively; but when he had repeated his story three times in detail I was so stupefied that I could not reply. My first impulse was to laugh, for I saw that I had loved the most unworthy of women; but it was no less true that I loved her still. "Is it possible?" was all I could say.
Desgenais' friends confirmed all he had said. My mistress had been surprised in her own house between two lovers, and a scene that all Paris knew by heart ensued. She was disgraced, obliged to leave Paris or remain exposed to the most bitter taunts.
It was easy for me to see that in all, the ridicule expended on the subject of this woman, on my unreasonable passion for her, was premeditated. To say that she deserved severest censure, that she had perhaps committed worse sins than those with which she was charged, that was to make me feel that I had been merely one of her dupes.
All that did not please me; but Desgenais had undertaken the task of curing me of my love and was prepared to treat my disease heroically. A long friendship founded on mutual services gave him rights, and as his motive appeared praiseworthy I allowed him to have his way.
Not only did he not spare me, but when he saw my trouble and my shame increase, he pressed me the harder. My impatience was so obvious that he could not continue, so he stopped and remained silent, a course that irritated me still more.
In my turn I began to ask questions; I paced to and fro in my room. Although the recital of that story was insupportable, I wanted to hear it again. I tried to assume a smiling face and tranquil air, but in vain. Desgenais suddenly became silent after having shown himself to be a most virulent gossip. While I was pacing up and down my room he looked at me calmly as though I was a caged fox.
I can not express my feeling. A woman who had so long been the idol of my heart and who, since I had lost her, had caused me such deep affliction, the only one I had ever loved, she for whom I would weep till death, become suddenly a shameless wretch, the subject of coarse jests, of universal censure and scandal! It seemed to me that I felt on my shoulder the impression of a heated iron and that I was marked with a burning stigma.
The more I reflected, the more the darkness thickened about me. From time to time I turned my head and saw a cold smile or a curious glance. Desgenais did not leave me, he knew very well what he was doing, he knew that I might go to any length in my present desperate condition.
When he found that he had brought me to the desired point he did not hesitate to deal the finishing stroke.