He could read, at
last, that page in effect so brilliant, divine its hidden meaning. The
purely physical innocence of Paquita, the bewilderment of her joy,
certain words, obscure at first, but now clear, which had escaped her
in the midst of that joy, all proved to him that he had posed for
another person. As no social corruption was unknown to him, as he
professed a complete indifference towards all perversities, and
believed them to be justified on the simple ground that they were
capable of satisfaction, he was not startled at vice, he knew it as
one knows a friend, but he was wounded at having served as sustenance
for it. If his presumption was right, he had been outraged in the most
sensitive part of him. The mere suspicion filled him with fury, he
broke out with the roar of a tiger who has been the sport of a deer,
the cry of a tiger which united a brute's strength with the
intelligence of the demon.
"I say, what is the matter with you?" asked Paul.
"Nothing!"
"I should be sorry, if you were to be asked whether you had anything
against me and were to reply with a _nothing_ like that! It would be a
sure case of fighting the next day."
"I fight no more duels," said De Marsay.
"That seems to me even more tragical. Do you assassinate, then?"
"You travesty words. I execute."
"My dear friend," said Paul, "your jokes are of a very sombre color
this morning."
"What would you have? Pleasure ends in cruelty. Why? I don't know, and
am not sufficiently curious to try and find out.
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