Well, I did hope I had
outgrown my mania, as I have done the toothache; for this time I had
passed the fatal period, the three years. It is nearly four years now
since I went through the established process--as fixed beforehand as the
dyer's or the cotton-weaver's--adored her, trusted her blindly, suspected
her, watched her, detected her, left her. By-the-by, she was my wife, the
last; but that made no difference; she was neither better nor worse than
the rest, and her methods and idiotic motives of deceit identical. Well,
Ned, I was mistaken. Yesterday night I met my Fate once more."
"Where? In Frankfort?"
"No: at Homburg; at the opera. You must give me your word not to tell a
soul."
"I pledge you my word of honor."
"Well, the lady who sung the part of Siebel."
"Siebel?" muttered Severne.
"Yes," said Vizard, dejectedly.
Severne fixed his eyes on his friend with a strange expression of
confusion and curiosity, as if he could not take it all in. But he said
nothing, only looked very hard all the time.
Vizard burst out, "'O miserae hominum mentes, O pectora caeca!' There I
sat, in the stalls, a happy man comparatively, because my heart, though
full of scars, was at peace, and my reason, after periodical abdications,
had resumed its throne, for good; so I, weak mortal, fancied.
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