At one moment I would recall how Marguerite had given herself to me, and ask myself by what right I wrote her an impertinent letter, when she could reply that it was not M.de G.who supplanted me, but I who had supplanted M.de G.: a mode of reasoning which permits many women to have many lovers.

At another moment I would recall her promises, and endeavour to convince myself that my letter was only too gentle, and that there were not expressions forcible enough to punish a woman who laughed at a love like mine.

Then I said to myself that I should have done better not to have written to her, but to have gone to see her, and that then I should have had the pleasure of seeing the tears that she would shed.

Finally, I asked myself what she would reply to me; already prepared to believe whatever excuse she made.
Joseph returned.
"Well ?" I said to him.
"Sir," said he, "madame was not up, and still asleep, but as soon as she rings the letter will be taken to her, and if there is any reply it will be sent." She was asleep! Twenty times I was on the point of sending to get the letter back, but every time I said to myself: "Perhaps she will have got it already, and it would look as if I have repented of sending it." As the hour at which it seemed likely that she would reply came nearer, I regretted more and more that I had written.

The clock struck, ten, eleven, twelve.