It was Jean Jacques.

He was suddenly transformed.
His eyes were darkened by hideous memory, his face alight with passion.
He caught from the girl's hands the guitar--Carmen's forgotten guitar which he had not seen for seven years--how well he knew it! With both hands he broke it across his knee.

The strings, as they snapped, gave a shrill, wailing cry, like a voice stopped suddenly by death.

Stepping jerkily to the fireplace he thrust it into the flame.
"Ah, there!" he said savagely.

"There--there!" When he turned round slowly again, his face--which he had never sought to control before he had his great Accident seven years ago--was under his command.