There seemed not on the earth's face a more
forlorn, a more feeble, a less estimable wretch than himself, but just
now a hero. O! what a fool, what a miserable, contemptible fool was he!
With what a light tongue and lighter heart had he spoken of this woman
who despised, who spurned him! His face blushed, ay! burnt, at
the remembrance of his reveries and his fond monologues! the very
recollection made him shudder with disgust. He looked up to see if any
demon were jeering him among the ruins.
His heart was so crushed that hope could not find even one desolate
chamber to smile in. His courage was so cowed that, far from indulging
in the distant romance to which, under these circumstances, we sometimes
fly, he only wondered at the absolute insanity which, for a moment, had
permitted him to aspire to her possession. 'Sympathy of dispositions!
Similarity of tastes, forsooth! Why, we are different existences! Nature
could never have made us for the same world or with the same clay! O
consummate being! why, why did we meet? Why, why are my eyes at
length unsealed? Why, why do I at length feel conscious of my utter
worthlessness? O God! I am miserable!' He arose and hastened to the
house.
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