But on lifting his glass to his lips he let it fall.

The glass, which broke on the floor, had awakened in the artist's mind a recollection which itself revived his momentary dulled pain.

The day on which Francine had called on him for the first time she had felt ill, and he had given her to drink out of this glass.

Later, when they were living together, they had regarded it as a love token.
During his rare moments of wealth the artist would buy for his love one or two bottles of the strengthening wine prescribed for her, and it was from this glass that Francine used to sip the liquid whence her love drew a charming gaiety.
Jacques remained for more than half an hour staring without uttering a word at the scattered fragments of this frail and cherished token.

It seemed to him that his heart was also broken, and that he could feel the fragments tearing his breast.