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- Мари Корелли
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I
did
not
reply
,
for
I
was
pained
and
grieved
at
her
lack
of
all
gentle
feeling
in
the
matter
,
and
I
was
also
,
to
a
certain
extent
,
superstitiously
affected
by
the
fact
of
the
death
occurring
on
our
marriage-day
.
However
this
was
now
a
thing
of
the
past
;
a
month
had
elapsed
--
a
month
in
which
the
tearing-down
of
illusions
had
gone
on
daily
and
hourly
--
till
I
was
left
to
contemplate
the
uncurtained
bare
prose
of
life
and
the
knowledge
that
I
had
wedded
a
beautiful
feminine
animal
with
the
soul
of
a
shameless
libertine
.
Here
I
pause
and
ask
myself
--
Was
not
I
also
a
libertine
?
Yes
--
I
freely
admit
it
--
but
the
libertinage
of
a
man
,
while
it
may
run
to
excess
in
hot
youth
,
generally
resolves
itself
,
under
the
influence
of
a
great
love
,
into
a
strong
desire
for
undefiled
sweetness
and
modesty
in
the
woman
beloved
.
If
a
man
has
indulged
in
both
folly
and
sin
,
the
time
comes
at
last
,
when
,
if
he
has
any
good
left
in
him
at
all
,
he
turns
back
upon
himself
and
lashes
his
own
vices
with
the
scorpion-whip
of
self-contempt
till
he
smarts
with
the
rage
and
pain
of
it
--
and
then
,
aching
in
every
pulse
with
his
deserved
chastisement
,
he
kneels
in
spirit
at
the
feet
of
some
pure
,
true-hearted
woman
whose
white
soul
,
like
an
angel
,
hovers
compassionately
above
him
,
and
there
lays
down
his
life
,
saying
"
Do
what
you
will
with
it
--
it
is
yours
!
"
And
woe
to
her
who
plays
lightly
with
such
a
gift
,
or
works
fresh
injury
upon
it
!
No
man
,
even
if
he
has
in
his
day
,
indulged
in
'
rapid
'
living
,
should
choose
a
'
rapid
'
woman
for
his
wife
--
he
had
far
better
put
a
loaded
pistol
to
his
head
and
make
an
end
of
it
!
The
sunset-glory
began
to
fade
from
the
landscape
as
the
little
boat
glided
on
over
the
tranquil
water
,
and
a
great
shadow
was
on
my
mind
,
like
the
shadow
of
that
outer
darkness
which
would
soon
be
night
.
Again
I
asked
myself
--
Was
there
no
happiness
possible
in
all
the
world
?
Just
then
the
Angelus
chimed
from
a
little
chapel
on
the
shore
,
and
as
it
rang
,
a
memory
stirred
in
my
brain
moving
me
well-nigh
to
tears
.
Mavis
Clare
was
happy
!
--
Mavis
,
with
her
frank
fearless
eyes
,
sweet
face
and
bright
nature
--
Mavis
,
wearing
her
crown
of
Fame
as
simply
as
a
child
might
wear
a
wreath
of
may-blossom
--
she
,
with
a
merely
moderate
share
of
fortune
which
even
in
its
slight
proportion
was
only
due
to
her
own
hard
incessant
work
--
she
was
happy
.
And
I
--
with
my
millions
--
was
wretched
!
How
was
it
?
Why
was
it
?
What
had
I
done
?
I
had
lived
as
my
compeers
lived
--
I
had
followed
the
lead
of
all
society
--
I
had
feasted
my
friends
and
effectually
'
snubbed
'
my
foes
--
I
had
comported
myself
exactly
as
others
of
my
wealth
comport
themselves
--
and
I
had
married
a
woman
whom
most
men
,
looking
upon
once
,
would
have
been
proud
to
win
.
Nevertheless
there
seemed
to
be
a
curse
upon
me
.
What
had
I
missed
out
of
life
?
I
knew
--
but
was
ashamed
to
own
it
,
because
I
had
previously
scorned
what
I
called
the
dream-nothings
of
mere
sentiment
.
And
now
I
had
to
acknowledge
the
paramount
importance
of
those
'
dream-nothings
'
out
of
which
all
true
living
must
come
.
I
had
to
realize
that
my
marriage
was
nothing
but
the
mere
mating
of
the
male
and
female
animal
--
a
coarse
bodily
union
,
and
no
more
;
--
that
all
the
finer
and
deeper
emotions
which
make
a
holy
thing
of
human
wedlock
,
were
lacking
--
the
mutual
respect
,
the
trusting
sympathy
--
the
lovely
confidence
of
mind
with
mind
--
the
subtle
inner
spiritual
bond
which
no
science
can
analyse
,
and
which
is
so
much
closer
and
stronger
than
the
material
,
and
knits
immortal
souls
together
when
bodies
decay
--
these
things
had
no
existence
,
and
never
would
exist
between
my
wife
and
me
.
Thus
,
as
far
as
I
was
concerned
,
there
was
a
strange
blankness
in
the
world
--
I
was
thrust
back
upon
myself
for
comfort
and
found
none
.
What
should
I
do
with
my
life
,
I
wondered
drearily
!
Win
fame
--
true
fame
--
after
all
?
With
Sibyl
's
witch-eyes
mocking
my
efforts
?
--
never
!
If
I
had
ever
had
any
gifts
of
creative
thought
within
me
,
she
would
have
killed
it
!
The
hour
was
over
--
the
boatman
rowed
me
in
to
land
,
and
I
paid
and
dismissed
him
.
The
sun
had
completely
sunk
--
there
were
dense
purple
shadows
darkening
over
the
mountains
,
and
one
or
two
small
stars
faintly
discernible
in
the
east
.
I
walked
slowly
back
to
the
villa
where
we
were
staying
--
a
'
dépendance
'
belonging
to
the
large
hotel
of
the
district
,
which
we
had
rented
for
the
sake
of
privacy
and
independence
,
some
of
the
hotel-servants
being
portioned
off
to
attend
upon
us
,
in
addition
to
my
own
man
Morris
,
and
my
wife
's
maid
.
I
found
Sibyl
in
the
garden
,
reclining
in
a
basket-chair
,
her
eyes
fixed
on
the
after-glow
of
the
sunset
,
and
in
her
hands
a
book
--
one
of
the
loathliest
of
the
prurient
novels
that
have
been
lately
written
by
women
to
degrade
and
shame
their
sex
.
With
a
sudden
impulse
of
rage
upon
me
which
I
could
not
resist
,
I
snatched
the
volume
from
her
and
flung
it
into
the
lake
below
.
She
made
no
movement
of
either
surprise
or
offence
--
she
merely
turned
her
eyes
away
from
the
glowing
heavens
,
and
looked
at
me
with
a
little
smile
.
"
How
violent
you
are
to-day
,
Geoffrey
!
"
she
said
.
I
gazed
at
her
in
sombre
silence
.
From
the
light
hat
with
its
pale
mauve
orchids
that
rested
on
her
nut-brown
hair
,
to
the
point
of
her
daintily
embroidered
shoe
,
her
dress
was
perfect
--
and
she
was
perfect
.
I
knew
that
--
a
matchless
piece
of
womanhood
...
outwardly
!
My
heart
beat
--
there
was
a
sense
of
suffocation
in
my
throat
--
I
could
have
killed
her
for
the
mingled
loathing
and
longing
which
her
beauty
roused
in
me
.
"
I
am
sorry
!
"
I
said
hoarsely
,
avoiding
her
gaze
--
"
But
I
hate
to
see
you
with
such
a
book
as
that
!
"
