Mechanically I returned home, finding my way by instinct.
By degrees, I regained the thread of my ideas.
I had already suffered so much from similar causes that I endeavoured to struggle with all my might against this new suspicion.
I hoped to sift truth from falsehood, by submitting the past to the horrible interpretation given to Madame de Fersen's life.
Armed with this infamous accusation, cold and calm, like a man about to stake his life and honour on a chance, I set myself to this work of hateful analysis.
This time, also, I cleared my thoughts, by writing them down, and I find these notes. They contrast cruelly with the preceding radiant pages, with those days of sunlight written formerly at the Grove.
PARIS, 13th December, 18—.
Let us examine the facts.
Madame de Fersen is accused of being a spy.
What credit does her conduct give to these infamous suspicions?