"
The echo of the slamming door had scarce died away when Victor, raging
and potent to do the vicomte harm, flung out after him. With his sword
drawn he looked savagely up and down the street, but the vicomte was
nowhere in sight. The cold air, however, was grateful to the poet's
feverish cheeks and aching eyes; so he strode on absently, with no
destination in mind. It was only when the Hotel de Perigny loomed
before him, with its bleak walls and sinister cheval-de-frise, that his
sense of locality revived. He raised a hand which cast a silent
malediction on this evil house and its master, swung about and hurried
back to the tavern, recollecting that Gabrielle and Paul were together.
"And all those dreams of her, they vanish like the hours. That hope,
that joyous hope, of calling her mine shall buoy me up no more. She
does not love me! God save me from another such unhappy night. We
have all been stricken with madness." He struck at the snow-drifts
with his sword. The snow, dry and dusty, flew up into his face.
Meanwhile, when madame entered the private assembly-room her eyes,
blurred with tears, saw only the half dead fire.
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