Each evening on his knees he flayed his skin with haircloth,
he tried to banish the phantom of the regretted wife by calling from its
coffin the skeleton which must now be there. But she constantly appeared
before him, living, in the delicious freshness of youth, such as she
was when very young he had first met her and loved her with the devoted
affection of maturity. The torture then recommenced as keen and intense
as on the day after her death: he mourned her, he longed for her with
the same revolt against God Who had taken her from him; he was unable to
calm himself until the break of day, when quite exhausted by contempt of
himself and disgust of all the world. Oh! Divine love! When he went out
of his room Monseigneur resumed his severe attitude, his expression was
calm and haughty, and his face was only slightly pale. The morning
when Felicien had made his confession he listened to him without
interruption, controlling himself with so great an effort that not a
fibre of his body quivered, and he looked earnestly at him, distressed
beyond measure to see him, so young, so handsome, so eager, and so
like himself in this folly of impetuous love. It was no longer with
bitterness, but it was his absolute will, his hard duty to save his
son from the ills which had caused him so much suffering, and he would
destroy the passion in his child as he wished to kill it in himself.
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