I wrote to her that I would call on her that evening.
I waited for the hour with frightful anxiety.
I had laid my plan.
At ten o'clock I went to Madame de Fersen's, expecting to find her alone.
A thousand confused thoughts were rushing through my mind. Anger, hate, love, a remorseful anticipation of the wrong I was about to commit, a vague instinct of the injustice of my suspicions, all combined to put me in a feverish exasperated condition, the consequences of which I could not foresee.
Contrary to my expectations, Catherine had several persons with her.
This new proof of what I called her falsehood incensed me; for a moment I was on the point of turning back and abandoning my purpose, but an irresistible force drove me, and I entered.
The sight of people, and the control which I had always possessed over myself, at once changed my violent anger into a polished, cold, and biting irony.
This scene is still present to me. Catherine, seated near the fireplace, was chatting with a friend.
My first look was doubtless very terrible, for Madame de Fersen, bewildered, suddenly turned pale.