“ ‘My parents being dead, he was all I had in the world. He often came to the house and spent whole evenings with me. I ought not to have let him come so often, since he was married. But I had not sufficient strength of mind to forbid his visits.
“ ‘How can I tell you? … he became my lover! How did it come about? I don’t even know! Does one ever know? Do you think it could be otherwise when two human beings are driven towards each other by the irresistible force of mutual love? Do you believe that it is always in our power to resist, to struggle, to refuse to yield to the prayers and supplications, the tears, the frenzied words, the paroxysms of passion of the man we adore, whom we desire to crown with every possible happiness, but whom, on the contrary, we must drive to despair in obedience to the world’s convention of honour? What strength would be required, what renunciation of all happiness, what self-denial, and even what virtuous selfishness! Is that not so?
“ ‘In short, I was his mistress, and I was happy. For two years I was happy. I had become his wife’s friend—and this was my greatest weakness and my most cowardly act.
“ ‘We brought up my son together; we made a man of him, a real man, intelligent, sensible and determined, broad-minded and full of generous ideas. My son reached the age of seventeen. He, the boy, loved my—my lover almost as much as I did, for he had been equally loved and cared for by both of us. He always called him “Chum.” He had the greatest respect for him, having learnt nothing but what was good from him and having continually before him this example of uprightness, honour and probity. He looked upon him as his mother’s old, loyal and devoted friend, as a kind of spiritual father, a guardian, protector—what more can I say?
“ ‘Perhaps he had never asked himself what was the position between us, for from his earliest youth he had seen this man about the house, by my side, by his side, always thinking about us both.
“ ‘One evening the three of us were to dine together (this was my greatest treat), and I was expecting them and wondering which would be the first to arrive. The door opened; it was my old friend. I went to meet him with outstretched arms and he kissed me with the lingering kiss of happiness. All of a sudden a sound, a rustle, a whisper in the air—that mysterious sensation that indicates the human presence—made us start and turn abruptly. Jean, my son, stood there, looking at us, livid with rage.
“ ‘I lost my head for a moment then stepped back, holding my hands out to my child as if in supplication, but I could not see him. He had gone.
“ ‘We remained together—my lover and I—overwhelmed, unable to say a word. I sank into an armchair and felt a desire, a confused and violent desire, to escape, to rush out into the night, and to disappear forever. Then I sobbed convulsively and wept, shaken with spasms of grief, my spirit utterly crushed, my nerves tortured by the frightful sense of an irreparable misfortune and by the appalling sense of shame that fills a mother’s heart in such circumstances.
“ ‘He looked at me, terrified, not daring to come near me, to speak to me, to touch me, for fear the boy should return. At last he said: “I will go and look for him—talk to him—make him understand—I must see him—he must know—” and he left me. I waited—I waited, distracted, trembling at the least sound, sick with fright and filled with an undefined unbearable emotion at every slight crackling of the fire in the grate: I waited an hour, two hours, with an increasing dread in my heart, such as I had never felt before, a feeling of such intense anguish that I would not condemn any criminal to ten minutes of it. Where was my child? What was he doing?
“ ‘Towards midnight a messenger brought me a note from my lover. I know it by heart:
“ ‘ “Has your boy come back? I have not found him. I am downstairs. It is too late to come up.”
“ ‘I wrote in pencil on the same piece of paper:
“ ‘ “Jean has not returned; you must find him.”
“ ‘I spent the night in the armchair, waiting.
“ ‘I was going mad. I wanted to shout, to run about, to roll on the ground, but I kept perfectly still, waiting, waiting. What was going to happen? I tried hard to guess. But in spite of all my efforts, in spite of my agony of mind, I did not foresee the truth.
“ ‘Then I was afraid they might meet each other. What would they do? What would the boy do? Terrifying thoughts, alarming possibilities, racked my whole being. You can understand my feelings, can’t you?
“My maid, who neither knew nor understood what was happening, came to me again and again, but I sent her away, either by a word or a sign, until finally she went for the doctor, who arrived to find me suffering from a severe nervous attack. I was put to bed.
“ ‘When I regained consciousness after a long spell of brain fever
