And Claude felt himself caught in a net.

He felt the deadly meshes cling about his limbs, the ropes fetter and benumb him.

From the sunshine of youth, from freedom, from a life without care, he had passed in a few days into the grip of this [Greek: anagke], this dire necessity, this dark ante-chamber of death.

Was it wonderful that for a moment, recognising the sacrifice he was called upon to make and its inefficacy to save, he rebelled against the love that had drawn him to this fate, that had led him to this, that in others' eyes had ruined him?
Ay, but for a moment only.

Then with a heart bursting with pity for her, with love for her, he was himself.