That black gown still clung to his skin.

He fancied that he had divested himself of it, and yet it was still weighing on his shoulders, and his wisest course would be to bury himself in it for ever.

By donning it again he would at least wear mourning for his manhood.
All at once, however, a fresh thought upset him.

Why should he struggle in that fashion?
Marie did not love him.

There had been nothing between them to indicate that she cared for him otherwise than as a charming, tender-hearted sister.