The two hundred crowns were gone. My time, my honour, the eager thought I had devoted to the scheme, all were wasted.
In this general shipwreck one haunting thought remained: our condition was hopeless.
I proposed that we should die together. What was to become of us? She was quite broken down and I had not the strength to lift her up a second time.
"Let us die," I said to her. "Don't let us degenerate into walking corpses and obstruct the path of the living."
She refused.
What a coward you were, my proud Marie! And how cruel it was of you to make me a witness of the spectacle of your downfall, the laughter and sneers of the onlookers!
I spent the evening at my club, and when I went home that night I was intoxicated.
I went to see her early on the following morning. The alcohol seemed to have made me more clear-sighted. For the first time I noticed the change in her. Her room was untidy, her dress slovenly, her beloved little feet were thrust into a pair of old slippers, the stockings hung in wrinkles round her ankles. What squalor!
Her vocabulary had become enriched by some ugly theatrical slang; her gestures were reminiscent of the street, her eyes looked at me with hatred, an expression of bitterness drew down the corners of her mouth.
She remained stooping over her work, without looking at me, as if she were thinking evil thoughts.