If only he could have desisted from making her suffer; but this again he could not, suffering as he did himself.

He went home to his meals, full of relenting resolutions; then, as soon as he saw her, as soon as he met her eye--formerly so clear and frank, now so evasive, frightened, and bewildered--he struck at her in spite of himself, unable to suppress the treacherous words which would rise to his lips.
This disgraceful secret, known to them alone, goaded him up against her.
It was as a poison flowing in his veins and giving him an impulse to bite like a mad dog.
And there was no one in the way now to hinder his reading her; Jean lived almost entirely in his new apartments, and only came home to dinner and to sleep every night at his father's.
He frequently observed his brother's bitterness and violence, and attributed them to jealousy.

He promised himself that some day he would teach him his place and give him a lesson, for life at home was becoming very painful as a result of these constant scenes.

But as he now lived apart he suffered less from this brutal conduct, and his love of peace prompted him to patience.

His good fortune, too, had turned his head, and he scarcely paused to think of anything which had no direct interest for himself.