He said that, of all the women he knew, I was the one who could make herself the most consummately unpleasant; I was she with whom it was least possible to live on friendly terms. I had a caractère intraitable , 161 and perverse to a miracle. How I managed it, or what possessed me, he, for his part, did not know; but with whatever pacific and amicable intentions a person accosted me⁠— crac! I turned concord to discord, goodwill to enmity. He was sure, he⁠— M. Paul⁠—wished me well enough; he had never done me any harm that he knew of; he might, at least, he supposed, claim a right to be regarded as a neutral acquaintance, guiltless of hostile sentiments: yet, how I behaved to him! With what pungent vivacities⁠—what an impetus of mutiny⁠—what a fougue 162 of injustice!