Madame Arnaud gasped, and clasped her hands and said:
"Poor things!"
"She has gone," said Christophe. "Gone with her lover."
"And her child?" asked Madame Arnaud.
"Husband, child—she has left everything."
"Poor thing!" said Madame Arnaud again.
"He loved her," said Christophe. "He loved her, and her alone. He will never recover from the blow. He keeps on saying: 'Christophe, she has betrayed me…. My dearest friend has betrayed me.' It is no good my saying to him, 'Since she has betrayed you, she cannot have been your friend. She is your enemy. Forget her or kill her!'"
"Oh! Christophe, what are you saying! It is too horrible!"
'Yes, I know. You all think it barbaric and prehistoric to kill! It is jolly to hear these Parisians protesting against the brutal instincts which urge the male to kill the female if she deceives him, and preaching indulgence and reason! They're splendid apostles! It is a fine thing to see the pack of mongrel dogs waxing wrath against the return to animalism. After outraging life, after having robbed it of its worth, they surround it with religious worship…. What! That heartless, dishonorable, meaningless life, the mere physical act of breathing, the beating of the blood in a scrap of flesh, these are the things which they hold worthy of respect! They are never done with their niceness about the flesh: it is a crime to touch it. You may kill the soul if you like, but the body is sacred…."
"The murderers of the soul are the worst of all: but one crime is no excuse for another. You know that."