I could not comprehend why a woman, who was forced to it by neither duty nor interest, could lie to one man when she loved another.

Twenty times a day I asked my friend Desgenais how that could be possible.
"If I were her husband," I said, "or if I supported her, I could easily understand how she might be tempted to deceive me; but if she no longer loves me, why deceive me ?" I did not understand how any one could lie for love; I was but a child, then, but I confess that I do not understand it yet.

Every time I have loved a woman I have told her of it, and when I ceased to love her I have confessed it with the same sincerity, having always thought that in matters of this kind the will was not concerned and that there was no crime but falsehood.
To all this Desgenais replied: "She is unworthy; promise me that you will never see her again." I solemnly promised.

He advised me, moreover, not to write to her, not even to reproach her, and if she wrote to me not to reply.

I promised all, with some surprise that he should consider it necessary to exact such a pledge.
Nevertheless, the first thing I did when I was able to leave my room was to visit my mistress.