The words he had just heard from Austin rang like a crazy, deafening
chime through his ears. He sat in one of the old leather chairs,
gripping his coarse hair. It was unthinkable, and yet it was true.
Viviette had told Austin the thing that glowed sacred at the bottom of
his soul. The scene danced vividly before his eyes: the two bright
creatures making a mock of him and his love, laughing merrily at the
trick they had played him, pitying him contemptuously. There was a flame
at his heart, a burning lump in his throat. Mechanically he drew from a
little cupboard near by a bottle of whiskey, a syphon, and a glass. The
drink he mixed and swallowed contained little soda. It increased the
fire in his heart and throat. He paced the long room in crazy
indignation. Every nerve in his body quivered with a sense of
unforgivable insult and deadly outrage. Austin's face loomed before him
like that of a mocking devil. He had hell in his throat, and again he
tossed down a dose of whiskey, and threw himself into the arm-chair.
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