"Figures, figures, figures, red and black, living figures that moved, that spoke, that glared and mocked me--the voices of the croupiers, the exclamations of the gamesters, the rattle of the money--curses and benedictions--now surrounded by a blaze of light, now plunged into black darkness--painted women, men with hideous faces, lips that smiled and derided--these were the images that haunted me in the night. I had drunk brandy, contrary to my usual habit, for I was never fond of drink, and my brain was burning. From time to time I dozed, and scarcely knew whether I was awake or asleep, whether what I saw were phantoms or actual forms of things. Was that a knock at my door? Was that the voice of a waiter speaking to me outside? I did not answer; I did not move. What mattered anything now? If the door opened, it could signify nothing to me; if some person entered and went away, there was no interest in the movements to beguile me from the tortures I was suffering. Ruin and I were company enough.
"The sun was streaming into my room long before I rose; when I got out of bed I staggered like a drunken man, though, except for the delirium of my senses, I was perfectly sober. It was not till I had washed and dressed that I observed a letter upon my table. Taking it up, I saw that it was in the handwriting of my wife.
"I hardly dared to open it; by my own act I had destroyed any claim to her affection. I had brought deep unhappiness upon her; I had systematically neglected her; I had lost the home which should have been hers; I had taken our child's money, and could not return it. But the letter must be read. With trembling hands I unfastened the envelope, and drew forth the sheet.
"It bore neither date nor address. I have the letter by me now, and I copy it word for word:
"I can bear my agony in silence no longer. I write to you, I speak to you, for the last time. This is my last farewell to him I loved, to the father of my child, to the husband who should have been my shield.
"Do you remember the words you addressed to me when we were married? 'I love you,' you said, 'I am your husband and lover. Nothing shall ever harm or wound you. I am your shield--the shield of love.'
"With what fondness I used to repeat these words to myself! My shield! My shield of love! Side by side with my worship of the Eternal did I worship you, as the realization of a young girl's happiest dreams; my joy, my hope, my shield of love!
"Slowly, slowly did I awake from my dream. I would not, I could not, believe what you were showing me day by day, but the terrible truth forced itself upon me with power so resistless, with conviction so absolute, that I could no longer refuse to believe. How bitter was the knowledge, how bitter, how bitter!
"I gave you all my love. But for your own actions it would never have wavered. O Richard! if in a moment of temptation you had turned to me, I might have been your shield, as you promised to be mine!
"I know your secret. I have known it for years--for long, bitter years. I cannot blame myself that I did not satisfy your expectations. All that a loving woman could do I did to retain your love. I hid nothing from you; I strove with all my might to make your home pleasant and attractive to you; what power lay within me to keep you faithful to the vows we pledged was exercised by me to the utmost of my abilities. I used to say to myself, 'What can I do to win my husband's society and confidence? How can I act so that he shall not continue to grow weary of me?' You will never know how hard I strove, you will never know the tears I shed as I slowly recognized that my shield of love was a mockery, and that there was as little loving meaning in your declaration as if it had been uttered by a deadly enemy.