As he watched the
philosopher's grandiloquent pantomime of gesture, like a mist there
floated over him the keen imagination of the hell of regret in which the
old age, that never used to the full its irrevocable youth, must move,
and a passion of desire to use his own youth rushed over him as fire
rushes over a dry prairie. Even a sudden anger against Valentine came to
him,--against Valentine for the protection he had given through so many
years. For had he not been protecting Julian against joy? and does not
the capacity for joy pass away with a tragic swiftness? As Faust was
transformed into youth, and the ballet danced in the market-place, Julian
turned to Valentine and said:
"We will live to-night."
Valentine laughed.
"You look excited."
"I feel excited. Don't you?"
Valentine answered:
"I may presently. We mustn't stay in here all the evening."
There was a knock at the door of the box. An attendant appeared to ask
their orders. Valentine spoke some words to him, and in a few minutes he
brought three long drinks to the box. Julian drank his mechanically. His
eyes were always on the ballet. The betrayal of poor Margaret had now
been accomplished and the soldiers were returning from the wars.
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