On the morrow I resolved to leave Toulouse - to quit this province
wherein so much had befallen me and repair to Beaugency, there to
grow old in misanthropical seclusion. I had done with Courts, I
had done with love and with women; I had done, it seemed to me, with
life itself. Prodigal had it been in gifts that I had not sought of
it. It had spread my table with the richest offerings, but they had
been little to my palate, and I had nauseated quickly. And now,
when here in this remote corner of France it had shown me the one
prize I coveted, it had been swift to place it beyond my reach,
thereby sowing everlasting discontent and misery in my hitherto
pampered heart.
I saw Castelroux that day, but I said no word to him of my
affliction. He brought me news of Chatellerault. The Count was
lying in a dangerous condition at the Auberge Royale, and might not
be moved. The physician attending him all but despaired of his life.
"He is asking to see you," said Castelroux.
But I was not minded to respond. For all that he had deeply wronged
me, for all that I despised him very cordially, the sight of him
in his present condition might arouse my pity, and I was in no mood
to waste upon such a one as Chatellerault even on his deathbed - a
quality of which I had so dire a need just then for my own case.
"I will not go," said I, after deliberation. "Tell him from me that
I forgive him freely if it be that he seeks my forgiveness; tell
him that I bear him no rancour, and - that he had better make his
will, to save me trouble hereafter, if he should chance to die.
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