WHEN I was something like myself once more，I could not believe that the new day which was dawning would not be exactly like all the days that had gone before.There were moments when I felt that some circumstance or other，which I could not remember，had obliged me to spend the night away from Marguerite，and that，if I returned to Bougival，I should find her waiting anxiously，just as I had waited，and she would ask me what had kept me from her.
When your life has become so dependent on a habit as strong as our habit of loving，it hardly seems possible that the habit can be broken without also demolishing everything else which buttresses your life.
And so，from time to time，I was driven to reread Marguerite's letter，to convince myself that I had not been dreaming.
My body，giving way under the nervous shock，was incapable of any kind of movement.The worry，my walk through the night and the morning's revelations had exhausted me.My father took advantage of my state of total collapse to ask me for my strict promise that I would go away with him.
I promised everything he asked.I was incapable of arguing，and stood in need of sincere affection to help me over what had happened.
I was very glad that my father felt able to comfort me in my great sorrow.
All I remember is that the same day，at about five o'clock，he put us both into a post-chaise.Without telling me，he had arranged for my trunks to be got ready and had them strapped along with his to the back of the carriage，and then he took me away with him.
I became aware of what I was doing only when the city had dropped behind us，when the empty road reminded me of the emptiness in my heart.
Then the tears got the better of me once more.
My father had sensed that words alone，even his words，could not comfort me，and he let me cry without saying anything，content to pat my hand from time to time，as though to remind me that I had a friend at my side.
That night，I slept a little.I dreamed of Marguerite.
I woke with a start.I could not understand what I was doing in a carriage.
Then reality returned，and I let my head fall on to my chest.
I dared not talk to my father，for I was still afraid that he would say：'You do see I was right when I told you that woman didn't love you，'
But he took no unfair advantage of the situation，and we reached C without his having spoken save of matters completely foreign to the events which had led to my departure.
When I embraced my sister，I was reminded of the words in Marguerite's letter concerning her.But I saw at once that，however fine and good she was，my sister could never make me forget my mistress.
The hunting season had begun，and my father thought that a spot of shooting might take my mind off things.So he organized hunting parties with neighbours and friends.I went along as unprotesting as I was unenthusiastic，in the mood of apathy which had characterized all my actions since my departure.
We went out with beaters.I would be installed in my butt.Then I would put my unloaded gun beside me and let my mind wander.
I watched the clouds pass over.I let my thoughts run wild over the deserted plains and，from time to time，would hear one of the hunters signalling that there was a hare not ten paces in front of me.
None of this escaped my father's notice，and he refused to allow himself to be taken in by my outward calm.He was quite aware that，however unmanned my heart was now，it could provoke a terrible，perhaps even dangerous reaction at any time，and，going out of his way to avoid giving the impression that he was consoling me，he did his utmost to occupy my mind with other things.
Of course，my sister had been told nothing of the events which had occurred.She thus found it difficult to under stand why I，who had always been so carefree，should suddenly have become so preoccupied and melancholy.
Sometimes in my sadness，catching my father's anxious eye，I would reach out to him and grasp his hand as though to ask a silent pardon for the unhappiness which，despite myself，I was causing him.
A month went by in this manner，but a month was all I could bear.
The memory of Marguerite pursued me wherever I went.I had loved that woman-still loved her-too much for her suddenly to cease to mean anything to me.Whatever feelings I might have for her now，I had to see her again.At once.
The longing to do so crept into my mind and took root there with all the force which the will displays when finally it reasserts itself in a body that has long remained inert.
I needed Marguerite，not at some time in the future，not in a month nor a week from the moment the idea first entered my head，but before another day passed.I immediately went to my father and told him that I proposed to take my leave to attend to some matters which had called me back to Paris，but added that I would return promptly.
He probably guessed the real reasons for my departure，because he insisted that I should stay.But，seeing that if my desires were thwarted，then in my present excitable state，the consequences might prove fatal to me，he embraced me and begged me，almost tearfully，to come back to him soon.
I did not sleep all the way to Paris.
What would I do when I got there？I had no idea.But the first thing was to attend to Marguerite.
I went to my apartment to change and，as it was fine and still not too late in the day，I went to the Champs-Elysees.
A half an hour later，in the distance，coming from the Rond-Point down to the Place de la Concorde，I saw Marguerite's carriage approaching.
She had bought back her horses，for the carriage was just as it used to be.Only she was not in it.
I had only just noticed that she was not inside when，looking round me，I saw Marguerite walking towards me in the company of a woman I had never seen before.
As she passed quite close to me，she turned pale and her lips contracted into an uneasy smile.As for me，my heart beat so violently that it took my breath away.But I managed to give a cold expression to my face and a cold greeting to my former mistress，who went back to her carriage almost at once and got into it with her friend.
