Chapter 15

 Jean hurried down the lane and started off across country insuch a state of high exaltation as robbed him of all senses ofrealities and banished all consciousness whether of joy or pain.
He had no remembrance of what he had been before the moment whenhe kissed the actress's hand; he seemed a stranger to himself.
On his lips lingered a taste that stirred voluptuous fancies,and grew stronger as he pressed them one against the other.
Next morning his intoxication was dissipated and he relapsedinto profound depression. He told himself that his last chancewas gone. He realized that the gate overhung with wild vine andivy was shut against him by that careless, capricious hand morefirmly and more inexorably than ever it could have been by thebolts and bars of the most prudish virtue. He felt instinctivelythat his kiss had stirred no promptings of desire, that he hadbeen powerless to win any hold on his mistress's senses.
He had forgotten what he said, but he knew that he had spokenout in all the frank sincerity of his heart. He had exposed hisignorance of the world, his contemptible candour. The mischiefwas irreparable. Could anyone be more unfortunate? He had losteven the one advantage he possessed, of being unknown to her.
Though he entertained no very high opinion of himself, he certainlyheld fate responsible for his natural deficiencies. He was poor,he reasoned, and therefore had no right to fall in love. Ah!
if only he were wealthy and familiar with all the things idle,prosperous people know, how entirely the splendour of his materialsurroundings would be in harmony with the splendour of his passion!
What blundering, ferocious god of cruelty had immured in the dungeonof poverty this soul of his that so overflowed with desires?
He opened his window and caught sight of his father's apprenticeon his way back to the workshop. The lad stood there on the pavementtalking with naive effrontery to a little book-stitcher of hisacquaintance. He was kissing the girl, without a thought of thepassers-by, and whistling a tune between his teeth. The pretty,sickly-looking slattern carried her rags with an air, and worea pair of smart, well-made boots; she was pretending to pushher admirer away, while really doing just the opposite, for theslim yet broad-shouldered stripling in his blue blouse had acertain townified elegance and the "conquering hero" air of thesuburban dancing-saloons. When he left her, she looked backrepeatedly; but he was examining the saveloys in a pork-butcher'swindow, never giving another thought to the girl.
Jean, as he looked on at the little scene, found himself envyinghis father's apprentice.