"In fine," thought Hubert, "I must admit that I have missed being happy. To surprise a woman, hypnotize her with kisses, chloroform her with caresses, then be united with her through the falling of cushions, with, before one's eyes, the future boredom of partial repetitions of a similar proceeding—this is called being happy!"
Heliot had related to him that once, in a similar situation, the maid had discreetly entered at the most interesting passage, asking, through the open door: "Does Madace wish her slippers?"
"Consequently, I have missed being happy once more, for such felicities are not unknown to me: it is only the color of garters that differs. Well, till tomorrow or the day after tomorrow: Sixtine is in my power. It is certainly pleasant, very pleasant.
"We will enjoy charming evenings. She is intelligent and I shall read her my manuscripts: here and there, I need a woman's opinion. It is astonishing that heretofore this has not troubled me more. When shall I see her again. To-day? No. To-morrow? No. But shall I write to her? Twice daily. She will answer in little brief and impersonal phrases, with shafts of raillery. I shall let her rail at me: I can do it, for I am sure of my case. Well, Tuesday? We shall see. Happiness leaves me cold and its regular perspectives sadden me. Thus, I, too, have pursued the pretty beast and I am satisfied. With what? With having put my foot on its shadow."
MAN AND THE PRETTY BEAST
The road, under the sun, lies, white and dusty, lies under the sun.
The pretty beast, what is it like? It runs too swiftly, one sees it run, one does not see it, the pretty beast.
The man is naked, panting and with cruel eyes, like a hunter, naked, however, and disarmed.
"Pretty beast, I would trap thee, ah I pretty beast, I have thee, pretty beast."
The man has bounded, he has put his foot on the pretty beast, his bare foot, very gently, so as not to hurt it.