When I was something like myself once more, I could not believe that the new day which was dawning would not be exactly like all the days that had gone before. There were moments when I felt that some circumstance or other, which I could not remember, had obliged me to spend the night away from Marguerite, and that, if I returned to Bougival, I should find her waiting anxiously, just as I had waited, and she would ask me what had kept me from her.

When your life has become so dependent on a habit as strong as our habit of loving, it hardly seems possible that the habit can be broken without also demolishing everything else which buttresses your life.

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