the train did not reach the paris terminus before 10.40 at night. there had been a stoppage of twenty minutes at rouen to give the passengers time to dine; and séverine had hastened to telegraph to her husband that she would only return to havre by the express on the following night.

as they left mantes, pecqueux had an idea. mother victoire, his wife, had been at the hospital for a week, laid up with a severely sprained ankle occasioned by a fall; and, as he could find a bed at the house of some friends, he desired to offer their room to madame roubaud. she would be much more comfortable than at a hotel in the neighbourhood, and could remain there until the following night as if she were at home. and, when she approached the locomotive, among the swarm of passengers who at last left the carriages under the marquee, jacques advised her to accept, at the same time holding out to her the key which the fireman had given him. but séverine hesitated.

"no, no," said she, "i've a cousin. she will make me up a bed."

jacques looked at her so earnestly that she ended by taking the key; while he, bending forward, whispered: "wait for me."

séverine had only to take a few steps up the rue d'amsterdam, and turn into the impasse, or blind alley of the same name. but the snow was so slippery that she had to walk very cautiously. she had the good fortune to find the door of the house still open, and ascended the[pg 234] staircase without even being seen by the portress, who was deep in a game of dominoes with a neighbour. on the fifth floor she opened the door and closed it so softly that certainly none of the neighbours could suspect her there. crossing the landing on the floor below, she had very distinctly heard laughter and singing at the dauvergnes; doubtless one of the small receptions of the two sisters, who invited their friends to musical evenings once a week.

and now that séverine had closed the door, and found herself in the oppressive darkness of the room, she could still distinguish the sound of the lively gaiety of all this youth coming through the boards. for a moment the obscurity seemed to her complete; and she started when the cuckoo clock, amidst the gloom, began to ring out eleven with deep strokes—a sound she recognised. then her eyes became accustomed to the dimness of the apartment. the two windows stood out in two pale squares, lighting the ceiling with the reflex of the snow. she was already beginning to find her way about, seeking for the matches on the sideboard in a corner where she recollected having seen them. but she had more difficulty in finding a candle. at last she discovered the end of one at the back of a drawer; and having put a lucifer to it the room was lit up. at once she cast a rapid, anxious glance around, as if to make sure that she was quite alone. she recognised everything: the round table where she had lunched with her husband; the bed draped with red cotton material, beside which he had knocked her down with a blow from his fist. it was there sure enough, nothing had been changed in the room during her absence of six months.

séverine slowly removed her hat. but, as she was also about to set aside her cloak, she shivered. it was as cold as ice in this room. in a small box near the stove, were coal and firewood. immediately, without taking off her wraps, she began to light the fire. this occupation amused her,[pg 235] serving as a diversion from the uneasiness she had at first experienced. when the stove began to draw, she busied herself with other household duties, arranging the chairs as it pleased her to see them, looking out clean sheets, and making the bed again, which caused her a deal of trouble, as it was unusually wide. she felt annoyed to find nothing to eat or drink in the sideboard. doubtless pecqueux had made a clean sweep of everything during the three days he had been master there. it was the same in regard to the light, there being only this single bit of candle.

and now, feeling very warm and lively, she stood in the middle of the room glancing round to make sure that everything was in order. then, just as she was beginning to feel astonished that jacques had not yet arrived, a whistle drew her to one of the windows. it was the 11.20 through train to havre that was leaving. below, the vast expanse, the trench extending from the station to the batignolles tunnel, appeared one sheet of snow where naught could be distinguished save the fan of metals with its black branches. the engines and carriages on the sidings formed white heaps, looking as if they rested beneath coverings of ermine. and between the immaculate glass of the great marquees and the ironwork of the pont de l'europe bordered with frets, the houses in the rue de rome opposite, in spite of the darkness, could be seen jumbled together in a tint of dirty yellow.

the through train for havre went along, crawling and sombre, its front lamp boring the obscurity with a bright flame; and séverine watched it vanish under the bridge, reddening the snow with its three back lights. on turning from the window she gave another brief shiver—was she really quite alone? she seemed to feel a warm breath heating the back of her neck, a brutal blow grazing her skin through her clothes. her widely opened eyes again looked round. no, no one.

what could jacques be after, to remain so long as this?[pg 236] another ten minutes passed. a slight scraping, a sound of finger-nails scratching against wood, alarmed her. then she understood, and hastened to open the door. it was jacques with a bottle of malaga and a cake.

in an outburst of tenderness she threw her arms round his neck, rippling with laughter.

"oh! you pet of a man to have thought to bring something," she exclaimed.

but he quickly silenced her.

"hush! hush!" he whispered.

and she, fancying he might be pursued by the portress, lowered her voice. no; as he was about to ring, he had the luck to see the door open to let out a lady and her daughter, who had no doubt come down from the dauvergnes; and he had been able to come up unperceived. only there, on the landing, through the door standing ajar, he had just caught sight of the newsvendor woman who was finishing a little washing in a basin.

"let us make as little noise as possible," said he. "speak low."

séverine replied by squeezing him passionately in her arms and covering his face with silent kisses. this game of mystery, speaking no louder than a whisper, diverted her.

"yes, yes," she said; "you shall see: we will be as quiet as two little mice."

she took all kinds of precautions in laying the table: two plates, two glasses, two knives, stopping with a desire to burst out laughing when one article, set down too hastily, rang against another.

jacques, who was watching her, also became amused.

"i thought you would be hungry," said he in a low voice.

"why, i am famished!" she answered. "we dined so badly at rouen!"

"well, then, let me run down and fetch a fowl," he suggested.

[pg 237]

"ah! no," said she; "the portress might not let you come up again! no, no, the cake will do."

they immediately seated themselves side by side, almost on the same chair; and the cake was divided and eaten amid the frolics of sweethearts. she said she was thirsty, and swallowed two glasses of malaga, one after the other, which flushed her cheeks. the stove, reddening behind their backs, thrilled them with warmth. but, as he was kissing her on the neck too loudly, she, in her turn, stopped him.

"hush! hush!" she whispered.

she made him a sign to listen; and, in the silence, they distinguished a swaying movement to the accompaniment of music, ascending from the dauvergnes; these young ladies had just arranged a hop. hard by, the newsvendor was throwing the soapy water from her basin down the sink on the landing. she shut her door. the dancing downstairs had for a moment ceased; and outside, beneath the window, nothing could be heard but a dull rumble, stifled by the snow—the departure of a train, which seemed weeping with low whistles.

"an auteuil train," murmured jacques. "ten minutes to twelve."

she made no answer, being absorbed by thoughts of the past, in her fever of happiness, living over again the hours she had passed there with her husband. was this not the bygone lunch continuing with the cake, eaten on the same table, amid the same sounds? she became more and more excited, recollections flowed fast upon her. never had she experienced such a burning necessity to tell her sweetheart everything, to deliver herself up to him completely. she felt, as it were, the physical desire to do so. it seemed to her that she would belong to him more absolutely were she to make her confession in his ear. past events came vividly to her mind. her husband was there. she turned her head,[pg 238] imagining she had just seen his short, hirsute hand pass over her shoulder to grasp the knife.

"hullo! the candle is going out," said jacques.

she shrugged her shoulders, as if to say she did not care. then, stifling a laugh, she whispered:

"i've been good, eh?"

"oh! yes!" he answered. "no one has heard us. we've been exactly like two little mice."

they said no more. the room was in darkness. barely could the pale squares of glass be distinguished at the two windows; but on the ceiling appeared a ray from the stove, forming a round crimson spot. both gazed at it with wide open eyes. the music had ceased. there came a slamming of doors; and then all the house fell into the peacefulness of heavy slumber. the train from caen, arriving below, shook the turn-tables with dull shocks that barely reached them, so far did they seem away.

and now, séverine again felt the desire to make her confession. she had been tormented by this feeling for weeks. the round spot on the ceiling increased in size, appearing to spread out like a spurt of blood. she had a fit of hallucination by looking at it. the objects round the bedstead took voices, relating the story aloud. she felt the words rising to her lips in the nervous wave passing through her frame. how delightful it would be to have nothing hidden, to confide in him entirely!

"you know, darling——" she began.

jacques, who had also been steadily watching the red spot, understood what she was about to say. he had observed her increasing uneasiness in regard to this obscure, hideous subject which was present in both their minds, although they never alluded to it. hitherto he had prevented her speaking, dreading the precursory shiver of his former complaint, trembling lest their affection might suffer if they were to talk of blood together. but, on this occasion, he did not feel the strength to bend his head, and seal her lips with a kiss. he[pg 239] thought it settled, that she would say all. and so, he was relieved of his anxiety, when, appearing to become troubled, she hesitated, then shrank back, and observed:

"you know, darling, my husband suspects we are in love with one another."

at the last second, in spite of herself, it was the recollection of what had passed the night before at havre, that came to her lips, instead of the confession.

"oh! do you think so?" he murmured incredulous. "he seems so nice. he gave me his hand again this morning."

"i assure you he knows," she replied. "i have the proof."

séverine paused. then, after a quivering meditation, she exclaimed:

"oh! i hate him! i hate him!"

jacques was surprised. he had no ill-feeling against roubaud.

"indeed! why is that?" he inquired "he does not interfere with us!"

without replying, she repeated:

"i hate him! the mere idea of his being beside me is a torture. ah! if i could, i would run away, i would remain with you!"

jacques pressed her to him. then, after another pause, she resumed:

"but you do not know, darling——"

the confession was on her lips again, fatally, inevitably. and this time he felt certain that nothing in the world would delay it. not a sound could be heard in the house. the newsvendor even must have been in deep slumber. outside, paris covered with snow was wrapped in silence. not a rumble of a vehicle could be heard in the streets. the last train for havre, which had left at twenty minutes after midnight, seemed to have borne away the final vestige of life in the station. the stove had ceased roaring. the fire burning[pg 240] to ashes, gave fresh vigour to the red spot circling on the ceiling like a terrified eye. it was so warm that a heavy, stifling mist seemed to weigh down on them.

"darling, you do not know——" she repeated.

then he also spoke, unable to restrain himself any longer:

"yes, yes, i know," said he.

"no; you may think you do, but you cannot know," she answered.

"i know that he did it for the legacy," he retorted.

she made a movement, and gave an involuntary little nervous laugh.

"ah! bosh; the legacy!" she remarked.

and, in a very low voice, so low that a moth grazing the window panes, would have made a louder sound, she related her childhood at the house of the sister of president grandmorin. gaining courage as she proceeded, she continued in her low tone:

"just fancy, it was here in this room, last february. you recollect, at the time when he had his quarrel with the sub-prefect. we had lunched very nicely—just as we have supped now—there, on that table. naturally, he knew nothing, i had not gone out of my way to relate the story. but all of a sudden, about a ring, an old present, about nothing, i know not how it occurred, he understood everything. ah! my darling! no, no; you cannot imagine how he treated me!"

after a shudder, she resumed:

"with a blow from his fist, he knocked me to the ground. and then he dragged me along by the hair. next he raised his heel above my face, as if he would crush it. no; as long as i live, i shall never forget that! after this came more blows, to force me to answer his questions. no doubt he loved me. he must have been very much pained when he heard all he made me tell him; and i confess that it would have been more straightforward on my part to have[pg 241] warned him before our marriage. only, you must understand that this intrigue was old and forgotten. no one but a positive savage would have become so mad with jealousy. you, yourself, my darling, will you cease to love me on account of what you now know?"

jacques had not moved. he sat inert, reflecting. he felt very much surprised. never had he a suspicion of such a story. how everything became complicated, when the will sufficed to account for the crime! but he preferred that matters should be as they were. the certainty that the couple had not killed for money, relieved him of a feeling of contempt.

"i! cease to love you. why?" he inquired. "i do not care a fig about your past. it does not concern me."

after a silence, he added:

"and then, what about the old man?"

in a very low tone, with an effort of all her being, she confessed.

"yes; we killed him," she answered. "he made me write to the president to leave by the express, at the same time as we did, and not to show himself until he reached rouen. i remained trembling in my corner, distracted at the thought of the woe into which we were plunging. opposite me sat a woman in black, who said nothing, and who gave me a great fright. i could not even look at her. i imagined she could distinctly read in our brains what was passing there, that she knew very well what we meant to do. it was thus that the two hours were spent from paris to rouen. i did not utter one word. i did not move, but closed my eyes to make believe i was asleep. i felt him beside me, motionless also; and what terrified me was my knowledge of the terrible things that were rolling in his head, without being able to make an exact guess of what he had resolved to do. ah! what a journey, with that whirling flood of thoughts, amidst the whistling of the locomotive, and the jolting, and the thunder of the wheels!"

[pg 242]

"but, as you were not in the same compartment, how were you able to kill him?" inquired jacques.

"wait a minute, and you will understand," answered séverine. "it was all arranged by my husband; but if the plan proved successful, it was entirely due to chance. there was a stoppage of ten minutes at rouen. we got down, and he compelled me to walk with him to the coupé occupied by the president, like persons who were stretching their legs. and there, seeing m. grandmorin at the door, he affected surprise, as if unaware of his being in the train. on the platform there was a crush, a stream of people forced their way into the second-class carriages all going to havre, where there was to be a fête on the morrow.

"when they began to close the doors, the president invited us into his compartment. i hesitated, mentioning our valise; but he cried out that there was no fear of anyone taking it, and that we could return to our carriage at barentin, as he would be getting down there. at one moment my husband, who was anxious, seemed as if he wanted to run and fetch the valise; but at that same minute, the guard whistled, and roubaud, making up his mind, pushed me into the coupé, got in after me, closed the door, and put up the glass. how it happened that we were not perceived, i have never been able to comprehend! a number of persons were running, the railway officials appeared to lose their heads, finally not a single witness came forward who had seen anything. at last, the train slowly left the station."

she paused a few seconds, unconsciously living the scene over again, and then resumed:

"ah! during the first moments in that coupé, as i felt the ground flying beneath me, i was quite dizzy. at the commencement, i thought of nothing but our valise: how were we to recover it? and would it not betray us if we left it where it was? the whole thing seemed to me stupid, devoid[pg 243] of reason, like a murder dreamed of by a child, under the influence of nightmare, which anyone must be mad to think of putting into execution. we should be arrested next day, and convicted. but i sought to calm myself with the reflection that my husband would shrink from the crime, that it would not take place, that it could not. and yet, at the mere sight of him chatting with the president, i understood that his resolution remained as immutable as it was ferocious.

"still, he was quite calm. he even talked merrily after his usual manner; and it must have been in his intelligible look alone, which ever and anon rested on me, that i read his obstinate determination. he meant to kill him a mile farther on, perhaps two, at the exact place he had settled in his mind, and as to which i was in ignorance. this was certain. one could even see it glittering in the tranquil glances which he cast upon the other who presently would be no more. i said nothing, feeling a violent interior trepidation, which i exerted myself to conceal by smiling when either of them looked at me. how was it that i never even thought of preventing all this? it was only later on, when i sought to understand my attitude, that i felt astonished i did not run to the door and shout out, or that i did not pull the alarm bell. at that time i was as if paralysed, i felt myself radically powerless. when i only think that i have not the courage to bleed a fowl! oh! what i suffered on that hideous night! oh! the frightful horror that howled within me!"

"but tell me," said jacques, "did you help him to kill the old fellow?"

"i was in a corner," she continued without answering. "my husband sat between me and the president, who occupied the other corner. they chatted together about the forthcoming elections. from time to time i noticed my husband bend forward, and cast a glance outside to find out where we were, as if impatient. each time he acted thus,[pg 244] i followed his eyes, and also ascertained how far we had travelled. the night was not very dark, the black masses of trees could be seen filing past with furious rapidity. and there was always that thunder of wheels, such as i had never heard before, a frightful tumult of enraged and moaning voices, a lugubrious wail of animals howling at death! the train flew along at full speed. suddenly there came flashes of light, and the reverberating echo of the locomotive and carriages passing betwixt the buildings of a station. we were at maromme, already two leagues and a half from rouen. malaunay would be next, and then barentin.

"where would the thing happen? did he intend waiting until the last minute? i was no longer conscious of time or distances. i abandoned myself like the stone that falls, to this deafening downfall in the gloom, when, on passing through malaunay, i all at once understood: the deed would be done in the tunnel, less than a mile farther on. i turned towards my husband. our eyes met: yes; in the tunnel. two minutes more. the train flew along. we passed the dieppe embranchment, where i noticed the pointsman at his post. at this spot are some hills, and there i imagined i could distinctly see men with their arms raised, loading us with imprecations. then, the engine gave a long whistle. we were at the entrance to the tunnel. and when the train plunged into it, oh! how that low-vaulted roof resounded! you know, those sounds of an upheaval of iron, similar to a hammer striking on an anvil, and which i, in this second or two of craziness, transformed into the rumble of thunder."

she shivered, and broke off to say, in a voice that had changed, and was almost merry:

"isn't it stupid, eh! darling, to still feel the cold in the marrow of one's bones? and yet, i'm warm enough. besides, you know there is nothing whatever to fear. the case is shelved, without counting that the bigwigs connected[pg 245] with the government are even less anxious than ourselves to throw light on it. oh! i saw through it all, and am quite at ease!"

then she added, without seeking to conceal her merriment:

"as for you, you can boast of having given us a rare fright! but tell me, i have often wondered—what was it you actually did see?"

"what i told the magistrate, nothing more," he answered. "one man murdering another. you two behaved so strangely with me that you aroused my suspicions. at one moment i seemed to recognise your husband. it was only later on though, that i became absolutely certain——"

she gaily interrupted him:

"yes, in the square. the day when i told you no. do you remember? the first time we were alone in paris together. how peculiar it was! i told you it was not us, and knew perfectly well that you thought the contrary. it was as if i had told you all about it, was it not? oh! darling, i have often thought of that conversation, and i really believe it is since that day i love you."

after a pause, she resumed the story of the crime:

"the train flew through the tunnel, which is very long. it takes three minutes to reach the end, as you know. to me it seemed like an hour. the president had ceased talking, in consequence of the deafening clatter of clashing iron. and my husband at this last moment must have lost courage, for he still remained motionless. only, in the dancing light of the lamp, i noticed his ears become violet. was he going to wait until we were again in the open country? the crime seemed to me so fatally inevitable, that, henceforth, i had but one desire: to be no longer subjected to this torture of waiting, to have it all over. why on earth did he not kill him, as the thing had to be done? i would have taken the knife and settled the matter myself,[pg 246] i was so exasperated with fear and suffering. he looked at me. no doubt he read my thoughts on my face. for all of a sudden, he fell upon the president, who had turned to glance through the glass at the door, grasping him by the shoulders.

"m. grandmorin, in a scare, instinctively shook himself free, and stretched out his arm towards the alarm knob just above his head. he managed to graze it, but was seized again by my husband, and thrown down on the seat with such violence that he found himself doubled up. his open mouth uttered frantic yells, in stupefaction and terror, which were drowned in the uproar of the train; while i heard my husband distinctly repeating the word: beast! beast! beast! in a passionate hiss. but the noise subsided, the train left the tunnel, the pale country appeared once more with the dark trees filing past. i had remained stiffened in my corner, pressing against the back of the coupé as far off as possible.

"how long did the struggle last? barely a few seconds. and yet it seemed to me it would never end, that all the passengers were now listening to the cries, that the trees saw us. my husband, holding the open knife in his hand, could not strike the blow, being driven back, staggering on the floor of the carriage, by the kicks of his victim. he almost fell to his knees; and the train flew on, carrying us along full speed; while the locomotive whistled as we approached the level-crossing at la croix-de-maufras.

"without me being able to recall afterwards how the thing occurred, i know it was then that i threw myself on the legs of the struggling man. yes, i let myself fall like a bundle, crushing his two lower limbs with all my weight, so that he was unable to move them any more. and if i saw nothing, i felt it all: the shock of the knife in the throat, the long quivering of the body, and then death, which came with three hiccups, with a sound like the[pg 247] running-down of a broken clock. oh! that quivering fit of agony! i still feel the echo of it in my limbs!"

jacques, eager for details, wanted to interrupt her with questions. but she was now in a hurry to finish.

"no; wait," said she. "as i rose from my seat we flashed past la croix-de-maufras. i distinctly perceived the front of the house with the shutters closed, and then the box of the gatekeeper. another three miles, five minutes at the most, before reaching barentin. the corpse was doubled-up on the seat, the blood running from it forming a large pool. and my husband, standing erect, besotted as if with drink, reeling in the swaying of the train, gazed on his victim as he wiped the knife with his pocket handkerchief. this lasted a minute, without either of us doing anything for our safety. if we kept this corpse with us, if we remained there, everything perhaps would be discovered when the train stopped at barentin.

"but my husband had put the knife in his pocket. he seemed to wake up. i saw him search the clothes of the dead man, take his watch, his money, all he could find; and, opening the door, he did his utmost to thrust the body out on the line without taking it in his arms, being afraid of the blood. 'assist me,' said he; 'push at the same time as i do!' i did not even attempt to try, my limbs were without feeling. with an oath he repeated, 'will you push with me?'

"the head, which had gone out first, hung down to the step; while the trunk, rolled into a ball, would not pass. and the train flew on. at last, in response to a stronger effort, the corpse turned over, and disappeared amidst the thunder of the wheels. 'ah! the beast; so it is all over!' said my husband. then, picking up the rug, he threw that out as well. there were now only us two standing before the pool of blood on the seat, where we dare not sit down. the open door continued beating backward and forward; and broken down and bewildered as i was, i did not at first[pg 248] understand what my husband was doing, when i saw him get out, and in his turn disappear.

"but he returned. 'come, quick, follow me,' said he, 'unless you want them to cut our heads off!' i did not move. he became impatient. 'come on,' he repeated with an oath, 'our compartment is empty.' our compartment empty! then he had been there? was he quite certain that the woman in black, who did not speak, whom one could not see, was he quite certain that she had not remained in a corner? 'if you don't come, i'll throw you on the line like the other one!' he threatened. he had entered the carriage, and pushed me as a brute, half mad. i found myself outside on the step, with my two hands clinging to the brass rail. leaving the coupé after me, he carefully closed the door. 'go on, go on!' said he. but i did not dare. i stood there, borne along in the whirling flight of the train, beaten by the wind which was blowing a gale. my hair came unbound, and i thought my stiffened fingers would lose their hold on the rail. 'go on!' he exclaimed with another oath. he continued pushing me, and i had to advance, hand over hand, keeping close to the carriages, with my skirt and petticoats blowing about and embarrassing the action of my lower limbs. already, in the distance, after a curve, one could see the lights of the barentin station. the engine began to whistle. 'go on!' repeated my husband still swearing at me.

"oh! that infernal riot, that violent vacillation amidst which i walked! it seemed as if i had been caught in a storm that swept me along like a straw, to cast me against a wall. the country flew behind my back, the trees followed me in a furious gallop, turning over and over, twisted, each uttering a short moan as it passed. when i came to the end of the carriage, and had to take a stride to reach the footboard of the next, and grasp the other rod, i stopped, having lost all courage. never should i have the strength[pg 249] to do it. 'go on,' said my husband, accompanying the words with his usual imprecation. he was behind, he gave me a push, and i closed my eyes. i know not how it was i continued to advance. possibly by the force of instinct, as an animal who has planted his claws into something, and means not to fall. how was it, too, that nobody saw us? we passed before three carriages, one of which was a second-class carriage, completely crammed. i remember seeing the heads of the passengers ranged in a line, in the light of the lamp. i believe i should recognise them if i were to meet them one of these days. there was a stout man with red whiskers, and i particularly recollect two young girls who were leaning forward laughing.

"'go on! go on!' exclaimed my husband with two frightful oaths. and i hardly remember what followed. the lights at barentin were drawing near, the locomotive whistled. my last sensation was one of being dragged along, carried anyhow, caught up by the hair. my husband must have grasped hold of me, opened the door over my shoulder, and thrown me into the compartment. i was reclining breathless and half fainting in a corner when we stopped; and, without making a movement, i heard my husband exchange a few words with the station-master. then, when the train went on again, he sank down on the seat, exhausted also. between barentin and havre neither of us said a word. oh! i hate him! i hate him, for all those abominations he made me suffer!"

"and so you sank down on his legs, and felt him dying?" inquired jacques.

the unknown was being revealed to him. a ferocious wave ascended from his inside, filling his head with a crimson vision. his curiosity about the murder returned.

"and then, the knife, you felt the knife go in?" he continued.

"yes, with a thud," she answered.

[pg 250]

"ah! a thud," said he, "not a rip; you are sure of that?"

"no, no," she replied; "nothing but a shock."

"and then, he quivered, eh?" he suggested.

"yes; he gave three twitches from top to toe, and they lasted so long that i even felt them in his feet," she said.

"and those twitches stiffened him, did they not?" he persisted.

"yes," she answered. "the first was very long, the other two weaker."

"and then he died?" he continued. "and what effect did it have on you, when you felt him expire under the knife?"

"on me? oh! i don't know," she said.

"you don't know! why tell stories?" he asked her. "describe to me, describe to me your feeling, quite frankly. was it pain?"

"no, no, not pain," said she.

"pleasure?" he inquired.

"pleasure!" she answered, "ah! no, not pleasure!"

"what then, my love?" he urged. "i implore you to tell me all. if you only knew——tell me what one feels."

"good heavens!" she exclaimed. "how is it possible to describe it? it is frightful. you are borne away. oh! so far, so far! i lived longer in that one minute than in all my previous life."

the crimson reflex had disappeared from the ceiling, and the fire had died out. the room became cooler in the intense cold outside. not a sound ascended from paris, padded with snow. for a moment, the newsvendor in the adjoining room, could be heard snoring, and then the whole house subsided into complete silence. séverine had succumbed to invincible slumber. the cuckoo clock had just struck three.

jacques was unable to close his eyes, which a hand, invisible in the obscurity, seemed to keep open. he could now distinguish nothing in the room. every object had disappeared, stove, furniture, and walls. he had to turn round[pg 251] to find the two pale squares of windows, which appeared motionless and faint as in a dream. notwithstanding his excessive fatigue, prodigious cerebral activity kept him in a thrill, ceaselessly unwinding the same coil of ideas. each time that, by an effort of will, he fancied himself slipping off to sleep, the same haunting pictures began filing by again, awakening the same sensations.

and the scene unfolded thus, with mechanical regularity, while his fixed, wide-open eyes became clouded, was that of the murder, detail by detail. it kept returning again and again, identically the same, gaining hold on him, driving him crazy. the knife entering the throat with a thud, the body giving three long twitches, life ebbing away in a flood of warm blood—a crimson flood which he fancied he felt coursing over his hands. twenty, thirty times, the knife went in, and the body quivered. oh! if he could but deal a blow like that, satisfy his long craving, learn what one experiences, become acquainted with that minute which is longer than a lifetime!

in spite of his effort to sleep, the invisible fingers kept his eyes open; and in the darkness the murder scene reappeared in all its sanguinary traits. then, he ceased the struggle and remained a prey to the stubborn vision. he could hear within him the unfettered labour of the brain, the rumble of the whole machine. it came from long ago, from his youth. and yet he had fancied himself cured, for this desire to kill had been dead for months; but, since the story of that crime had been told him just now, he had never felt the feeling so intensely. an intolerable warmth ran up his spine, and at the back of the neck he felt a pricking, as if red-hot needles were boring into him. he became afraid of his hands, and imprisoned them under him, as if he dreaded some abomination on their part, some act that he was determined not to allow them to commit.

each time the cuckoo clock struck, jacques counted the strokes. four o'clock, five o'clock, six o'clock. he longed for[pg 252] daylight, in the hope that dawn would dispel this nightmare. and now, he turned towards the windows, watching the panes of glass. but he could see naught save the vague reflex of the snow. at a quarter to five he had heard the through train arrive from havre, with a delay of only forty minutes which proved that the line must be clear. and it was not until after seven that he saw the window panes slowly becoming milky white. at length the darkness in the apartment disappeared, to give place to an uncertain glimmer, in which the furniture looked as if floating. the stove, the cupboard, the sideboard reappeared. he was still unable to close his lids. his eyes seemed determined to see.

all of a sudden, before it even became sufficiently light for him to distinguish the object, he had guessed that the knife he had used to cut the cake the previous night lay on the table. he now saw nothing but this knife, a small pointed weapon. and as day grew, all the clear rays from the two windows centred upon this thin blade. in terror of what his hands might do, he thrust them farther under him, for he could feel that they were agitated, in open revolt, more powerful than his own will. would they cease to belong to him, those hands that came from another, bequeathed to him by some ancestor of the days when man strangled animals in the woods?

so as not to see the knife, jacques turned towards séverine, who was sleeping very calmly in her intense fatigue, with the even respiration of a child. her mass of unbound, black hair made her a sombre pillow, and spread over her shoulders. beneath her chin, her throat appeared amidst the curls, a throat of cream-like delicacy, faintly tinted with rose. he gazed at her, as if he did not know her. and yet he adored her, carrying her image along with him, impressed on his mind, wherever he went. she was ever in his thoughts, even when he was driving his engine; and so much so, that on one occasion, when he awoke to[pg 253] reality, as from a dream, it was to find himself going at full speed past a station, in defiance of the signals.

but, at the sight of that white throat, he was overcome by a sudden, inexorable fascination; and, with a feeling of horror, of which he still had conscience, he felt the imperious necessity rising within him to take the knife from the table and bury it up to the handle in the flesh of this woman. he heard the thud of the blade entering the throat, he saw the body quake with three spasms, then stiffen in the death agony amidst a crimson flood.

in the struggle to free himself from these haunting thoughts, he every second lost a little of his will. it seemed to be succumbing to the fixed idea, to be reaching that extremity when a man yields, vanquished, to the impulse of instinct. everything went wrong. his revolted hands, overcoming his effort to conceal them, became unclasped of themselves, and escaped. he then understood that, henceforth, he was not their master, and that they would go, and brutally satisfy themselves if he continued gazing at séverine.

although it was now broad daylight, the room appeared to him to be full of reddish smoke, as if it was a dawn of icy fog, drowning everything. he shivered with fever. he had taken the knife, and concealed it up his sleeve, certain of killing one woman, the first he should meet on the pavement outside, when a crumpling of linen, a prolonged sigh, made him turn pale and stop riveted beside the table. it was séverine waking up.

he felt convinced that if he approached her, with that knife in his sleeve, if he only saw her again, in all her delicate beauty, there would be an end to that will which kept him firmly standing there close to her. in spite of himself, his hand would rise and bury the knife in her neck. distracted, he opened the door, and fled.

it was eight o'clock when jacques found himself on the pavement of the rue d'amsterdam. the snow had not yet[pg 254] been removed, and the footsteps of the few passers-by could barely be heard. he immediately caught sight of an old woman, but, as she happened to be turning the corner of the rue de londres, he did not follow her. being among men he walked down towards the place du havre, grasping the handle of the knife, whose blade disappeared up his sleeve. as a girl about fourteen left a house opposite, he crossed the road, but only reached the other side to see her enter the shop of a baker next door. his impatience was such that he could not wait, but sought farther on, continuing to descend the street.

since he had quitted the room with this knife, it was no longer he who acted, but the other one, him whom he had so frequently felt stirring in the depths of his being, that unknown party who dated back so very far, who was burning with the hereditary thirst for murder. he had killed in days of yore, he wanted to kill again.

and the objects around jacques were only things in a dream, for he saw them in the light of his fixed idea. his everyday life was as if abolished. he strode along like a somnambulist, without memory of the past, without forethought for the future, a slave to his necessity. his personality was absent from the body, which took its own direction.

two women who brushed by, as they advanced ahead of him, caused him to hasten his step; and he had caught them up, when a man stopped them. all three stood laughing and chatting together. this man being in his way, he began following another woman who went by, looking feeble and gloomy, and presenting a poverty-stricken appearance in her thin shawl. she advanced with short steps, on her way, no doubt, to some execrated task, that was hard and meanly remunerated, for she did not hurry, and her face looked despairingly sad.

nor did he hurry, now that he had found a victim, but waited to select a spot where he could strike her at ease.[pg 255] probably she perceived him following her, as her eyes turned towards him in unutterable distress, astonished that anybody could wish to have anything to say to her. she had already led him to the middle of the rue du havre, where she turned round twice more, each time preventing him plunging the knife, which he drew from his sleeve, into her throat—her eyes looked so full of misery, and so supplicating! he would strike her down over there, as she stepped from the pavement. but, he abruptly turned aside, in pursuit of another woman coming the opposite way. and he acted thus without reason, without will, simply because she happened to be passing at that minute.

jacques followed her towards the station. this young woman was very lively, and walked with sonorous tread. she looked adorably pretty. she could be no more than twenty, and was plump and fair, with lovely, merry eyes that laughed at life. apparently in a great hurry, she did not even notice that a man was following her, but briskly ascended the flight of steps in the cour du havre into the grand hall, along which she almost ran in her haste to reach the ticket-office of the ceinture line. and as she there asked for a first-class ticket to auteuil, jacques took the same. he then accompanied her through the waiting-rooms, on to the platform, and seated himself beside her in the compartment she selected. the train at once started.

"i have plenty of time," thought he; "i'll kill her in a tunnel."

but opposite them, an elderly lady, the only other person there, had just recognised the young woman.

"what! is it you?" she exclaimed. "where are you off to so early?"

the other laughed heartily with a comical gesture of despair.

"only fancy," said she, "one cannot go anywhere without meeting somebody one knows! i hope you will not betray me. to-morrow is the birthday of my husband; and, as soon[pg 256] as he went away to business, i set out on my errand. i am going to auteuil to find a florist who has an orchid which my husband has set his mind on. a surprise, you understand."

the elderly lady nodded her head up and down with tender benevolence. "and how is the baby?" she inquired.

"the baby?" answered the young mother. "oh! she is going on beautifully. you know i weaned her a week ago. you should see her eating her pap. we are all remarkably well. it is perfectly disgraceful."

she laughed louder than ever, displaying the white teeth between her ruby lips. and jacques, who had seated himself on her right, his knife in his fist, hidden under his leg, said to himself that he was in a first-rate position to deal the blow. he had only to raise his arm, and turn half round, to have her within reach. but in the batignolles tunnel, the thought of something she wore round her neck stopped him.

"there is a knot which will inconvenience me," he reflected. "i want to be quite sure."

the two ladies continued chatting gaily together.

"so i see you are happy," remarked the older one.

"happy? ah! if i could only tell you to what extent," replied the other. "two years ago i was nobody at all. you remember, there was no amusement at the home of my aunt; and i was without a sou of dowry. when he used to call, i trembled, i had become so fond of him. he was so handsome, so wealthy. and he is mine, my husband, and we have baby between us. i assure you it is too delightful!"

jacques, in examining the knot of the scarf, perceived a big gold locket underneath, attached to a black velvet band; and he calculated how he would proceed.

"i will grasp her by the neck," thought he, "with my left hand, and thrust aside the locket as i put her head back to have the throat free."

the train stopped, and went on again every few minutes, the stations being so close together. short tunnels followed[pg 257] one another at courcelles and neuilly. presently would do, one minute would be sufficient.

"did you go to the seaside last summer?" inquired the old lady.

"yes," answered the other, "to brittany, for six weeks, in an out-of-the-way corner, a perfect paradise. then we passed september in poitou, at the seat of my father-in-law, who owns extensive woods down there."

"and you are going to the south for the winter?" said the old lady.

"yes," answered the younger one, "we shall be at cannes about the 15th. the house is taken. a delightful bit of garden facing the sea. we have sent someone down to prepare the place. neither of us fear the cold, but then, the sun is so nice! we shall be back in march. next year we intend to remain in paris. after two years, when baby is big, we mean to travel. i hardly know what afterwards. it is one constant holiday!"

she was so overflowing with felicity, that yielding to a feeling of expansion, she turned towards jacques, towards this unknown individual to smile at him. in making this movement the knot of her scarf was displaced, carrying the locket away with it, and revealing the rosy neck with a slight dimple gilded by the shadow.

the fingers of jacques clutched the handle of the knife, at the same time as he formed an irrevocable resolution.

"that is the spot where i will deal the blow," said he to himself. "yes, in the tunnel before reaching passy."

but, at the trocadero station, a member of the staff got in, who, knowing jacques, began to talk about a theft of coal that had been brought home to a driver and his fireman. from that moment everything became confused. later on he was never able to establish the facts, exactly. the laughter continued in such a beam of happiness that he felt as if penetrated and appeased by it. perhaps he went as far as[pg 258] auteuil with the two ladies, only he had no recollection of seeing them leave the carriage.

in the end he found himself beside the seine, without knowing how he came there. but he had the distinct remembrance of casting the knife, which had remained in his hand, with the blade up his sleeve, from the top of the bank into the river. then he hardly knew what occurred, being half silly, absent from his being, which the other one had also left along with the knife. he must have wandered about for hours through streets and squares, wherever his body chanced to take him. people and houses filed past very faintly. doubtless, he had gone in somewhere to get food at the end of a room full of customers, for he clearly recalled the white plates. he had also the firm impression that he saw a red broadside on the shutters of a shop. and then, all sank into a black chasm, to nothingness, where there was neither time nor space, where he lay inert, perhaps since centuries.

when jacques came to himself, he was in his little room in the rue cardinet. he had fallen across his bed in his clothes. instinct had taken him there, just as a lame dog drags himself to his kennel, or his hole. he remembered neither going upstairs, nor going to sleep. he awoke from heavy slumber, scared to suddenly regain self-possession, as if after a long fainting fit. perhaps he had slept three hours, perhaps three days. all at once his memory returned: the confession séverine had made of the murder, and his departure like a feline animal in search of blood. he had been beside himself, but he now had full command of his faculties, and felt astounded at what had taken place against his will. then the recollection of the young woman awaiting him, made him leap to his feet at a bound. he looked at his watch, and saw it was already four o'clock; and, with a clear head, very calm, as if after a copious bleeding, he hastened back to the impasse d'amsterdam.

séverine had been wrapped in profound slumber until noon.[pg 259] then, waking up, surprised not to see jacques there, she had lit the fire, and, dying of inanition, had made up her mind, at about two o'clock, to run down and get something to eat at a neighbouring restaurant. when jacques appeared she had just come up again, after going on a few errands.

"oh! my darling!" she exclaimed, as he entered the room; "i was most anxious!"

and she hung round his neck, looking into his eyes, quite close.

"what has happened?" she added inquiringly.

he placidly removed her fears, without feeling in the least troubled.

"oh! nothing," he replied, "a nasty job. when they once get hold of you, they will never let you go."

then, séverine, lowering her voice, became very humble and fondling.

"only think," said she, "i fancied,—oh! an ugly thought, that caused me a great deal of pain!—yes, i fancied to myself that perhaps after the confession i made, you would have nothing more to do with me; and i imagined you had gone, never, never to return!"

tears filled her eyes, and she burst into sobs, pressing him distractedly in her arms.

"ah! my darling," she continued, "if you only knew how i yearn for kindness! love me, love me fondly, because, you see, it is only your love that can make me forget. now that i have told you all my trouble, you must not leave me. oh! i implore you!"

jacques felt penetrated by this tenderness. an invincible relaxation softened him little by little, and he stammered out:

"no, no, i love you, do not be afraid."

and quite overcome, he also wept, in face of the fatality of that abominable evil which had again taken hold of him, and of which he would never be cured. it was shame, and despair without limit.

[pg 260]

"love me, love me fondly, also," he continued. "oh! with all your strength, for i have as great a need of love as you."

she shuddered, and wished to know more.

"if you are in grief, you must confide in me," said she.

"no, no," he replied, "not grief, things that do not exist, moments of sadness that make me horribly unhappy, without it being even possible to speak of them."

they strained one another, mingling their frightfully melancholy trouble. it was infinite suffering without any possible oblivion, and without pardon. they wept, and upon them they felt the blind force of life, made up of struggles and death.

"come," said jacques, disengaging himself, "it is time to think of leaving! to-night you will be at havre!"

séverine, with clouded brow and vacant eyes, murmured after a silence:

"if i were only free, if my husband were no longer there. ah! how soon we should forget!"

he gave a violent gesture, and thinking aloud, he muttered:

"still we cannot kill him!"

she gazed at him fixedly, and he started, astonished at what he had said, for such an idea had never entered his mind. but as he wished to kill someone, why not kill this embarrassing man? and, as he left her to run to the dep?t, she again clasped him in her arms, and smothered him with kisses.

"oh! my darling," she repeated, "love me fondly. i will love you, more and more. we shall be happy, you will see."