“Then I will tell you about our evenings. I used to enter⁠—oh, that staircase, I knew every plant-pot on it⁠—the very door-handle⁠—all was so nice, so familiar to me⁠—then the anteroom, and then her room.⁠ ⁠… No, it will never, never, return! She writes to me even now; I can, if you like, even show you her letters. But I am no longer what I was⁠—I am ruined, I am no longer worthy of her.⁠ ⁠… Yes, I am completely ruined! Je suis cassé. 120 I have neither energy nor pride; nothing, not even nobility⁠ ⁠… Yes, I am ruined! and no one will ever understand what I have suffered. Everyone is indifferent. I am a lost man! I can never rise again, because I have sunk morally⁠ ⁠… sunk into the mire⁠ ⁠… sunk.⁠ ⁠…” And a real, deep despair sounded in his voice at that moment; he did not look at me, but sat motionless.

“Why give way to such despair?” I said.