during the ensuing days at havre, jacques and séverine, who were alarmed, displayed great prudence. as roubaud knew all, would he not be on the watch to surprise and wreak vengeance on them in a burst of rage? they recalled his previous angry fits of jealousy, his brutalities of a former porter, when he struck out with his clenched fists; and now, observing him so sour, so mute, with his troubled eyes, they imagined he must be meditating some savage, cunning trick, some stealthy snare to get them in his clutches. so, for the first few months, they were ever on the alert, and in meeting one another took all kinds of precautions.
still roubaud absented himself more and more. perhaps, he merely disappeared for the purpose of returning unexpectedly to find them together. but this fear proved groundless. his spells of absence became so prolonged that he was never at home, running off as soon as he became free, and only returning at the precise minute when the service claimed him. during the weeks he was on day duty, he managed to get through his ten o'clock knife-and-fork breakfast in five minutes, and was not seen again before half-past eleven; and at five o'clock in the evening, when his colleague came down to relieve him, he slipped away again, often to remain out the whole night. he barely allowed himself a few hours' sleep. his behaviour was similar during the weeks he did night duty. free at[pg 262] five o'clock in the morning, he no doubt ate and slept in the town, as he did not return until five o'clock in the afternoon.
notwithstanding this disorderly mode of life, he for a long time maintained exemplary punctuality, being invariably at his post at the exact minute, although he was sometimes so worn out that he could hardly keep on his feet. still he was there, and conscientiously went through his work. now came interruptions. moulin, the other assistant station-master, had twice waited an hour for him; and one morning after breakfast, finding he had not returned, he had even in good fellowship sought him out, to save him from a reprimand. all the duty roubaud had to perform suffered from this slow course of disorganisation.
in the daytime he was no longer the same active man who, when a train went off or came in, examined everything with his own eyes, noting down the smallest details in his report to his chief, as hard for himself as for those under him. at night, he slept like a top in the great armchair in the office. when awake he seemed still sleeping, going and coming along the platform with hands behind his back, giving orders without emphasis, and without verifying their execution. nevertheless, the work went on satisfactorily, apart from a slight collision, due to his negligence in sending a passenger train on to a shunting-line. his colleagues merely laughed, contenting themselves with saying that he went on the spree.
the truth was that roubaud, at present, passed all his spare time in a small, out-of-the-way room on the first floor of the café du commerce, which little by little had become a gambling-place. it was there the assistant station-master satisfied that morbid passion for play which had commenced on the morrow of the murder through a chance game at piquet, to increase afterwards and become a firmly rooted habit, owing to the absolute diversion and oblivion it[pg 263] afforded. henceforth, the gambling mania had a firm grip on him, as if it was the sole gratification in which he found contentment. not that he had ever been tormented through remorse with a desire to forget, but amidst the upheaval at home, amidst his shipwrecked existence, he had found consolation in the diverting influence of this egotistic pleasure, which he could enjoy alone; everything was obliterated by this passion which completed his disorganisation.
alcohol could not have brought him lighter or swifter moments, so free from every anxiety. he had even released himself from the care of life. he seemed to live with extraordinary, but disinterested intensity, without being touched by any of those annoyances that formerly made him burst with rage. and, apart from the fatigue of sitting-up all night, he enjoyed very good health. he even put on fat, a heavy yellow kind of fat, and his lids hung wearily above his troubled eyes. when he went home with his slow, sleepy gestures, it was to display supreme indifference for everything.
on the night that roubaud returned to his lodgings to take the 300 frcs. in gold from under the parquetry, he wanted to pay m. cauche, the commissary of police at the station, several successive losses he had made. cauche, who was an old gambler, showed magnificent composure, which rendered him redoubtable. compelled by his duties to keep up the appearances of an old military man, who, having remained bachelor, spent all his time at the café as a quiet, regular customer, he averred that he only played for pleasure; which did not prevent him passing the whole night at cards and pocketing all the money of the others. rumours had got abroad that, owing to his inexactitude in the discharge of his functions, it had become a question of forcing him to resign. but matters dragged on, and there being so little to do, it seemed unnecessary to exact greater zeal. so he continued to confine himself to appearing for an[pg 264] instant on the platform of the station, where everyone bowed to him.
three weeks after the payment of the first debt, roubaud owed nearly another 400 frcs. to m. cauche. he explained that the legacy to his wife put them quite at their ease; but he added, with a laugh, that she kept the keys of the safe, which explained his delay in discharging his gambling liabilities. then, one morning, when alone and tormented, he again raised the piece of parquetry, and took a 1000-franc-note from the hiding-place. he trembled in all his limbs. he had not experienced such emotion on the night he helped himself to the gold. doubtless, in his mind, that was only odd change come across by chance, whereas the theft began with this note. it made his flesh creep when he thought of this sacred money, which he had vowed never to touch.
formerly he had sworn he would sooner die of hunger, and yet he touched it, and he could not explain how he had got rid of his scruples. doubtless he had lost a portion of them day by day in the slow fermentation of the murder. at the bottom of the hole he fancied he felt something damp, something flabby and nauseous, which gave him horror. quickly replacing the piece of parquetry, he once more swore that he would cut off his hand rather than remove it again. his wife had not seen him. he drew a breath of relief, and drank a large glass full of water to compose himself. now his heart beat with delight at the idea of his debt being paid, and of all this sum he would be able to risk on the gambling-table.
but when it became a question of changing the note, the vexations of roubaud began again. formerly he was brave, he would have given himself up had he not committed the folly of involving his wife in the business; while now the mere thought of the gendarmes made him shiver. it served him but little to know that the judicial authorities[pg 265] were not in possession of the numbers of the notes that had disappeared, and that the criminal proceedings were at rest, shelved for ever in the cardboard boxes; as soon as he formed the project of going somewhere to ask for change, he was seized with terror.
for five days he kept the note about him, and got into the habit of constantly touching it, of changing its place, of even keeping it with him at night. he built up some very complicated plans, but always to encounter unforeseen apprehensions. at first he thought of getting rid of it at the station: why should not a colleague in charge of one of the paying-in offices take it from him? then, when this struck him as extremely dangerous, he conceived the idea of going to the other end of havre without his uniform cap, to purchase the first thing that entered his head. only, would not the shopman be astonished to see him offer such a big note in payment of so small a purchase? and he had then made up his mind to present the note at the shop of a tobacconist on the cours napoléon, where he went daily. would this not be the most simple course of all? it was known he had inherited the legacy, and the shopkeeper could not be surprised.
he walked to the door, but feeling himself falter he went down to the vauban dock to muster up courage. after walking about for half an hour, he returned without yet being able to do as he had decided. but in the evening, at the café du commerce, as m. cauche happened to be there, a sudden feeling of bravado made him pull the note from his pocket and beg the hostess to change it; but as she did not happen to have sufficient gold, she had to send a waiter to the tobacco shop. everyone made fun about the note, which seemed quite new, although dated ten years back. the commissary of police, taking it in his hand, turned it over and over, with the remark that it must certainly have been lying in some out-of-the-way place,[pg 266] which made another person relate an interminable story about a hidden fortune being discovered under the marble top of a chest of drawers.
weeks passed, and this money which roubaud had in his hands sufficed to send his passion to fever heat. it was not that he played for high stakes, but he was pursued by such constant dismal bad luck that the small daily losses, added together, totalled up to a large amount. towards the end of the month he found himself without a sou, besides being a few louis in debt, and so ill that he hardly dared touch a card. nevertheless, he struggled on, and almost had to take to his bed. the idea of the nine notes remaining there under the floor of the dining-room preyed on his mind at every minute. he could see them through the wood, he felt them heating the soles of his boots. if he chose he could take another! but this time he had formally sworn he would rather thrust his hand in the fire than rummage there again. but one night, when séverine had gone to bed early, he again raised the piece of parquetry, yielding with rage and distracted with such grief that his eyes filled with tears. what was the use of resisting thus? it was only needless suffering, for he could see that he would now take all the notes, one by one, until the last.
next morning séverine chanced to notice a chip, quite fresh, at the spot where the treasure lay concealed. stooping down, she found the trace of a dent. her husband evidently continued taking money, and she was astonished at the anger that got the better of her, for as a rule she was not grasping; and besides, she also fancied herself resolved to die of hunger rather than touch one of those blood-stained notes. but did they not belong to her as much as to him? why should he avoid consulting her and dispose of them on the sly? until dinner-time she was tormented by the desire to be positive, and she would in her turn have taken up the parquetry to look, had she not felt a little cold shiver in her[pg 267] hair at the thought of searching there all alone. would not the dead rise from this hole? this childish fear made the dining-room seem so unpleasant that she took her work and shut herself up in her bedroom.
then, in the evening, as the two were silently eating the remains of a stew, she again became irritated at seeing him cast involuntary glances at the spot where the money was hidden.
"you've been helping yourself to some more?" she said interrogatively.
he raised his head in astonishment.
"some more what?" he inquired.
"oh! do not act the innocent," she continued; "you understand very well. but listen: i will not have you do it again, because it is no more yours than mine, and it upsets me to know that you touch it."
habitually he avoided quarrels. their life in common had become the mere obligatory contact of two beings bound one to the other, passing entire days without exchanging a word; and, henceforth, going and coming like indifferent and solitary strangers. so he refused to give any explanation, and contented himself with shrugging his shoulders.
but she became very excited. she meant to finish with the matter, with the question of this money hidden there, which had made her suffer since the day of the crime.
"i insist on you answering me!" she exclaimed. "dare to say that you have not touched it!"
"what does it matter to you?" he asked.
"it matters to me, this much," she replied,—"that it makes me ill. again to-day i was afraid. i could not remain here. every time you go to that place i have horrible dreams three nights in succession. we never mention the subject. then remain quiet, and do not force me to speak about it."
he contemplated her with his great staring eyes, and repeated in a weighty tone:
[pg 268]
"what does it matter to you if i touch it, so long as i do not force you to do so? it is my own business, and concerns me alone!"
she was about to make a violent gesture, which she repressed. then, quite upset, with a countenance full of suffering and disgust, she exclaimed:
"ah! indeed! i do not understand you! and yet you were an honest man. yes, you would never have taken a sou from anyone. and what you did might have been forgiven, for you were crazy, and made me the same. but this money! ah! this abominable money! which should not exist for you, and which you are stealing sou by sou for your pleasure. what has happened? how could you have fallen so low?"
he listened to her, and in a moment of lucidity he also felt astonished that he should have arrived at thieving. the phases of the slow demoralisation were becoming effaced, he was unable to re-join what the murder had severed around him, he failed to understand how another existence, how almost a new being had commenced, with his home destroyed, his wife standing aside, and hostile. but the unavoidable subject at once came uppermost in his mind. he gave a gesture, as if to free himself from troublesome reflections, and growled:
"when there is no pleasure at home, one seeks diversion outside. as you no longer love me——"
"oh! no, i have no more love for you," she interrupted.
he looked at her, gave a blow with his fist on the table, and the blood rushed to his face.
"then leave me alone!" he exclaimed. "do i interfere with your amusements? do i sit in judgment on you? there are many things an upright man would do in my place, and which i do not do! to begin with, i ought to kick you out at the door. after that i should perhaps not steal."
she had become quite pale, for she also had often thought[pg 269] that when a man, and particularly a jealous man, is ravaged by some internal evil to the point of allowing his wife a sweetheart, there exists an indication of moral gangrene invading his being, destroying the other scruples, and entirely disorganising his conscience. but she struggled inwardly, refusing to hold herself responsible, and in an unsteady voice she exclaimed:
"i forbid you to touch the money!"
he had finished eating, and, quietly folding up his napkin, he rose, saying in a bantering tone:
"if you want to share the cash, let us do so."
he was already bending down as if to take up the piece of parquetry, and she had to rush forward and place her foot on it.
"no, no!" she pleaded. "you know i would prefer death. do not open it. no, no! not before me!"
that same night séverine had an appointment with jacques behind the goods station. when she returned home after twelve o'clock, the scene with her husband in the evening recurred to her, and she double-locked herself in her bedroom. roubaud was on night duty, and she had no anxiety lest he should return and come to bed, a circumstance that very rarely happened, even when he had his nights to himself. but with bedclothes to her chin, and the lamp turned down, she failed to get to sleep. why had she refused to share?
and she found that her ideas of honesty were not so keen as before, at the thought of taking advantage of this money. had she not accepted the legacy of la croix-de-maufras? then she could very well take the money also. now the shivering fit returned. no, no, never! money she would have taken. what she dared not touch, without fear of literally burning her fingers, was this money stolen from a dead body, this abominable money of the murder! she again recovered calm, and reasoned with herself: if she had taken the money, it would not have been to spend it; on the[pg 270] contrary, she would have hidden it somewhere else, buried it in a place known to her alone, where it would have remained eternally; and, at this hour even, half the amount would still be saved from the hands of her husband. he would not enjoy the triumph of having it all, he would not be able to gamble away what belonged to her.
when the clock struck three she felt mortally sorry that she had refused to share. a thought, indeed, came to her, still confused, and far from being determined on: supposing she were to get up, and search beneath the parquetry, so that he might have nothing more. only she was seized with such icy coldness that she would not dream of it. take all, keep all, without him daring to complain! and this plan, little by little, gained on her; while a will stronger than her resistance arose from the unconscious depths of her being. she would not do it; and yet she abruptly leapt from the bed, for she could not restrain herself. turning up the lamp, she passed into the dining-room.
from that moment séverine ceased trembling. her terror left her, and she proceeded calmly, with the slow and precise gestures of a somnambulist. she had to fetch the poker, which served to raise the piece of parquetry, and failing to see when the hole was uncovered, she brought the lamp near it. but then, bending forward, motionless, she became riveted to the spot in stupor: the hole was empty. it appeared evident, that while she had gone to her appointment with jacques, roubaud had returned, tormented by the same desire as herself to take all and keep all, a desire that had come to him before attacking her; and at one stroke he had pocketed all the banknotes that were left. not a single one remained. she knelt down, but only perceived the watch and chain at the back of the hiding-place, where the gold sparkled in the dust of the joists. frigid rage kept her there an instant, rigid and half nude, repeating aloud, a score of times over:
[pg 271]
"thief! thief! thief!"
then, with a furious movement, she grasped the watch, while a great black spider, which she had disturbed, fled along the plaster. replacing the piece of parquetry with blows from her heel, she returned to bed, standing the lamp on the night-table. when she had become warm, she looked at the watch which she held in her hand, turning it over and examining it for a long time. the two initials of the president, interlaced on the back of the case, interested her. inside, she read the number of the manufacturer, 2516. it was a very dangerous piece of jewelry to keep, for the judicial authorities knew the number. but, in her anger at being unable to save anything but this, she had no fear. she even felt there would be an end to her nightmares, now that the skeleton had disappeared from under the floor. at last she would be able to tread at home in peace, wherever she pleased. so, slipping the watch beneath her pillow, she turned out the lamp and fell asleep.
next day jacques, who was free, had to wait until roubaud had settled down at the café du commerce in accordance with his habit, to run up and lunch with séverine. occasionally, when they dared, they treated themselves to these little diversions. and on that day, as she was eating, still all of a tremble, she spoke to him about the money, relating how she had found the hiding-place empty. her rancour against her husband was not appeased, and the words she had used the previous night came incessantly to her lips:
"thief! thief! thief!"
then she brought the watch, and insisted on giving it to jacques in spite of his repugnance to take it.
"but you see, my darling," she said, "no one will ever think of searching for the thing at your place. if it remains with me, he will get possession of it. and rather than that should happen i would let him tear me to pieces. no,[pg 272] he has had too much already. i did not want the money; it gave me horror. i would never have spent a sou of it. but had he the right to take it? oh! i hate him!"
she was in tears, and persisted with so many supplications, that jacques ended by placing the watch in his waistcoat pocket.
an hour had passed when roubaud, who had his own key, opened the door and stepped in. she was at once on her feet, while roubaud stopped short, and jacques, who was stupefied, remained seated. séverine, without troubling to give any sort of explanation, advanced towards her husband, and passionately repeated:
"thief! thief! thief!"
roubaud hesitated for a second. then, with that shrug of the shoulders, which served to brush everything aside now, he entered the bedroom and picked up a note-book connected with the railway, which he had forgotten. but she followed him, giving free play to her tongue.
"you have been there again," she said. "dare to deny that you have been there again! and you have taken it all! thief! thief! thief!"
he crossed the dining-room without a word. it was only at the door that he turned round to embrace her in his leaden glance, and say:
"just let me have peace, eh!"
he was gone, and the door did not even bang. he appeared not to have seen, and made no allusion to the sweetheart seated there.
from that day séverine and jacques enjoyed perfect freedom, without troubling any further about roubaud. but if the husband ceased to cause them anxiety, it was not the same with the eavesdropping of madame lebleu, the neighbour ever on the watch. she certainly had the idea that something irregular was going on. jacques might well[pg 273] muffle the sound of his footsteps. at each visit he noticed the opposite door imperceptibly come ajar, and an eye staring at him through the chink. it became intolerable. he no longer dared ascend the staircase; for if he ran the risk, she knew he was there; and her ear went to the keyhole, so that it became impossible to take a kiss, or even to converse at liberty.
it was then that séverine, in exasperation, resumed her former campaign against the lebleus, to gain possession of their lodging. it was notorious that an assistant station-master had always lived there. but it was not now for the superb view afforded by the windows opening on the courtyard at the entrance, and stretching to the heights of ingouville, that she desired it; her sole motive, anent which she never breathed a word, was that the lodging had a second entry—a door opening on a back staircase. jacques could come up and go out that way without madame lebleu having even a suspicion of his visits. at last they would be free.
the battle was terrible. this question, which had already impassioned all the corridor, began afresh, and became envenomed from hour to hour. madame lebleu, in presence of the menace, desperately defended herself, convinced in her own mind that she would die if shut up in the dark lodging at the back, with the view barred by the roofing of the marquee, and as sad as a prison. how could she live in that black hole—she, who was accustomed to her beautifully bright room opening on the vast expanse of country, enlivened by the constant coming and going of travellers? and the state of her lower limbs preventing her going out for a walk, she would never have aught but the zinc roof to gaze upon; she might just as well be killed straight off.
unfortunately these were mere sentimental reasons, and she was forced to own that she held the lodging from the[pg 274] former assistant station-master, predecessor of roubaud, who, being a bachelor, had ceded it to her from motives of courtesy; and it appeared that there even existed a letter from her husband, undertaking to vacate the rooms should any future assistant station-master claim them; but as the letter had not yet been found, she denied that it had ever been written. in proportion as her case suffered, she became more violent and aggressive. at one moment she had sought to involve the wife of moulin, the other assistant station-master, in the business, and so gain her over to her side by saying that this lady had seen men kiss madame roubaud on the stairs. thereupon moulin became angry; for his wife, a very gentle and insignificant creature, whom no one ever saw, vowed, in tears, that she had neither seen nor said anything.
for a week all this tittle-tattle swept like a tempest, from one end of the corridor to the other. but the cardinal mistake of madame lebleu, and the one destined to bring about her defeat, consisted in constantly irritating mademoiselle guichon, the office-keeper, by obstinately spying on her. it was a mania on the part of madame lebleu, a firm conviction, that this spinster was carrying on an intrigue with the station-master. and her anxiety to surprise them had become a malady, which was all the more intense as she had had her eye on them for three years, without surprising anything whatever, not even a breath.
so mademoiselle guichon, furious that she could neither go out nor come in without being watched, now exerted herself to have madame lebleu relegated to the back; a lodging would then separate them, and anyhow, she would no longer have her opposite, nor be obliged to pass before her door. moreover, it was evident that m. dabadie, the station-master, who hitherto had avoided meddling in the struggle, was becoming more and more unfavourable to the lebleus every day, which was a grave sign.
[pg 275]
besides, the situation became complicated by quarrels. philomène, who now brought her new-laid eggs to séverine, displayed great insolence every time she ran across madame lebleu; and as the latter purposely left her door open, so as to annoy everybody, spiteful remarks were continually being exchanged between the two women.
this intimacy of séverine and philomène having drifted into confidences, the latter had ended by taking messages from jacques to his sweetheart when he did not dare run upstairs himself. arriving with her eggs, she altered the appointments, said why he had been obliged to be prudent on the previous evening, and related how long he had stayed at her house in conversation. jacques, at times, when an obstacle prevented him meeting séverine, found no displeasure in passing his time in this way at the cottage of sauvagnat, the head of the engine dep?t. he accompanied pecqueux, his fireman, there, as if for the purpose of distraction, for he dreaded staying a whole evening alone. but when the fireman disappeared, to go from one to another of the drinking resorts frequented by sailors, he called on philomène alone, entrusted her with a message, then, seating himself, he remained there some time. and she, becoming little by little mixed-up in this love affair, began to be smitten. the small hands and polite manners of this sad lover seemed to her delightful.
one evening she unbosomed herself to him, complaining of the fireman, an artful fellow, said she, notwithstanding his jovial manner, quite capable of dealing a nasty blow when intoxicated. jacques noticed that she now paid more attention to her personal appearance, drank less, and kept the house cleaner. her brother sauvagnat, having one night overheard a male voice in the room, entered with his hand raised ready to strike; but recognising the visitor talking to her, he contented himself with uncorking a bottle of cider. jacques, who was well received, shook off his[pg 276] fainting fits, and apparently amused himself. philomène, for her part, displayed warmer and warmer friendship for séverine, and made no secret of her feelings for madame lebleu, whom she alluded to everywhere as an old hag.
one night, meeting the two sweethearts at the back of her garden, she accompanied them in the dark to the shed, where they usually concealed themselves.
"ah! well," said she, "it is too good of you. as the lodging is yours, i would drag her out of it by the hair of her head. give her a good hiding!"
but jacques was opposed to a scandal.
"no, no," he broke in, "m. dabadie has the matter in hand. it will be better to wait until it can be properly settled."
"before the end of the month," affirmed séverine, "i mean to sleep in her room, and we shall then be able to see one another whenever we please."
philomène left them to return home, but, hidden in the shadow a few paces away, she paused and faced round. she felt considerable emotion at the knowledge that they were together. still, she was not jealous; she simply felt the need of loving and of being loved in this same way.
jacques became more and more gloomy every day. on two occasions when he could have met séverine, he invented excuses not to do so, and sometimes when he remained late at the cottage of the sauvagnats, it was also for the purpose of avoiding her. nevertheless, he still loved her. but now the frightful evil had returned. he suffered from terrible swimming in the head, he turned icy cold. in terror, he perceived he was no longer himself, and that the animal was there ready to bite.
he sought relief in the fatigue of long journeys, soliciting additional work, remaining twelve hours at a stretch erect on his engine, his body racked by the vacillation, his lungs scorched by the wind. his comrades complained of this hard[pg 277] life of a driver, which did for a man, said they, in a score of years. he would have liked to be done for at once. he was never sufficiently tired. never did he feel so happy as when borne along by la lison, thinking no more, and with eyes only for the signals. on reaching the end of the run sleep overpowered him, before he had even time to wash. only, when he awoke, the torment of the fixed idea returned.
he had also endeavoured to resume his former affection for la lison. again he passed hours cleaning it, exacting from pecqueux that the steel should shine like silver. the inspectors who got up beside him on the way, paid him compliments. but he only shook his head in dissatisfaction, for, he knew very well, that since the stoppage in the snow, it was not the same efficient, valiant engine as formerly. doubtless, in the repairs to the pistons and slide-valves, it had lost some of its principal motive power—that mysterious equilibrium, due to the hazard of building. this decay caused him suffering which turned to bitter vexation, and to such a pitch that he pursued his superiors with unreasonable complaints, asking for unnecessary repairs, and suggesting improvements that were impracticable. these being refused, he became more gloomy, convinced that la lison was out of order, and that henceforth he could do nothing decent with the engine. his affection in consequence became discouraged; what was the good of loving anything, as he would kill all he loved?
séverine had not failed to observe the change, and she was grieved, thinking his sadness due to her, since he knew all. when she perceived him shudder on her neck, avoid her kiss by abruptly drawing back, was it not because he remembered, and she caused him horror? never had she dared resume the conversation on the subject. she repented of having spoken, and was surprised at the way her confession had burst from her. as if satisfied at present to have him with her, at the bottom of this secret, she forgot[pg 278] how long she had felt the need to confide in him. she loved him more passionately since he knew everything. she only lived for jacques, and her one dream was that he might carry her away and keep her with him.
of the hideous drama she had merely retained the astonishment of being mixed up in it, and she would not even have felt angry with her husband, had he not been in her way. but her execration for this man increased in proportion with her passion for the other. now that her husband was aware of her intrigue and had absolved her, the sweetheart was the master, the one she would follow, and who could dispose of her as he pleased. she had made him give her his portrait, and she took it to bed with her, falling asleep with her lips glued to the image. and she felt very much pained since she saw him unhappy, without being able to exactly understand what caused him such suffering.
nevertheless, they continued to meet outside, until they could see one another at her home, in the new, conquered lodging. winter approached its term, and the month of february proved very mild. they prolonged their walks, sauntering for hours over the open ground adjoining the station. séverine continued to make her trip to paris every friday; and now she did not offer her husband the slightest explanation. for the neighbours, the old pretext, a bad knee sufficed; and she also said that she went to see her wet-nurse, mother victoire, who was a long time getting through her convalescence at the hospital. both séverine and jacques still took great pleasure in these journeys. he showed himself particularly attentive to his locomotive; she, delighted to see him less gloomy, found amusement in looking out of the window, notwithstanding that she began to know every little hill and clump of trees on the way.
from havre to motteville were meadows, flat fields separated by green hedges and planted with apple-trees; then as far as rouen came a stretch of irregular, desert land.[pg 279] after rouen, the seine streamed by. they crossed it at sotteville, at oissel, at pont-de-l'arche. now it constantly reappeared, expanding to great breadth across the vast plains. from gaillon it was hardly once lost to view. it ran on the left, slackening in speed between its low banks, bordered with poplars and willows. the train, darting along a hillside, abandoned the river at bonnières to abruptly meet it once more on issuing from the rolleboise tunnel at rosny. it seemed like a friendly companion on the journey, and was crossed three times again before reaching paris.
as the train sped gaily on its way, mantes appeared with its belfry amidst the trees, triel with its white limekilns, poissy, which the line severed in twain, in the very heart of the town. next came the two green screens of saint germain forest, the slope of colombes, bursting with lilac, and they were in the outskirts of paris. the city could be perceived from the bridge at asnières; the distant arc de triomphe, towering above sordid buildings, bristling with factory chimneys. the engine plunged beneath batignolles, and the passengers streamed from the carriages on to the platform of the echoing station.
until night séverine and jacques were free, and belonged to one another. on the return journey, it being dark, she closed her eyes, enjoying her happiness over again. but morning and night, each time she passed la croix-de-maufras, she advanced her head; and, without discovering herself, cast a furtive glance outside the carriage, certain that she would there find flore, erect before the gate of the level-crossing, presenting the flag in its case, and embracing the train with her flaming eyes.
since the snowy day when this girl had caught them kissing one another, jacques had warned séverine to be careful of her. he was no longer ignorant of that passion of a wild creature wherewith she had pursued him from her earliest years. he felt that she was jealous, and that she[pg 280] possessed virile energy, as well as unbridled and deadly rancour. moreover, she must be well-informed in regard to matters concerning séverine, for he remembered her allusion to the intimacy of the president with a certain young lady whom no one suspected, and for whom he had found a husband. if she knew this, she must assuredly have penetrated the mystery of the crime. doubtless, she would be talking or writing, so as to avenge herself by a denunciation.
but days and weeks passed without anything happening. he still found her there, planted rigidly at her post beside the line, with her flag. far away, as soon as she was able to catch sight of the locomotive, he felt the sensation of her burning eyes. she saw him, notwithstanding the smoke, and embraced all his frame in her glance, following him in the lightning flash amidst the thunder of the wheels.
and the train was scrutinised at the same time, pierced through and through, inspected from the first carriage to the last; she always discovered the other one, the rival, whom she now knew to be there every friday. and séverine might well advance her head but a trifle, impelled by the imperious necessity to look. she was seen. their eyes crossed like rapiers. the train was already far away, devouring space; and one person remained on the ground, powerless to follow it, raging at the happiness it bore along. flore seemed to be growing. jacques found her taller at each journey, and felt uneasy at her taking no action, wondering what plan would ripen in the head of this great, gloomy girl, whose motionless apparition he could not avoid.
there was also one of the servants of the company, that headguard, henri dauvergne, who inconvenienced séverine and jacques. he happened to be in charge of this friday train, and he displayed importunate amiability towards the young woman. the attentions of henri became so apparent, that roubaud observed them with sneering countenance on the mornings when he was on duty at the departure from[pg 281] havre. the headguard was in the habit of reserving an entire compartment for his wife, and took pains to see she was comfortable there, feeling the foot-warmer to make sure the water was hot, and so forth. on one occasion the husband, while continuing a chat with jacques, attracted his notice to the proceedings of the young man with a wink, as if to inquire whether he permitted that kind of thing.
in the family quarrels, roubaud flatly accused his wife of making love to the pair. and séverine imagined, for an instant, that jacques also had this belief, which was the cause of his sadness. in a burst of tears, she protested her innocence, telling him to kill her if she were unfaithful. but he merely laughed, and, turning very pale, embraced her, saying he was convinced of her fidelity, and that he sincerely hoped he would never kill anybody.
the first evenings of march were frightful, and they were obliged to interrupt their meetings. the trips to paris, the few hours of freedom sought so far away, were no longer enough for séverine. she experienced an increasing desire to have jacques with her, always with her, to live together, without ever leaving one another. and her execration for her husband increased. the mere presence of this man threw her into an unhealthy and intolerable state of excitement. she so docile, with all the complacence of a tender-hearted woman, became irritated as soon as it was a question of roubaud, flying into a passion at the least opposition he made to her will.
on such occasions the shade of her raven hair seemed to darken the limpid blue of her eyes. she became fierce, accusing him of having so thoroughly spoilt her existence that henceforth it would be impossible to live together. had not he done it all? if they were no longer as man and wife, if she had a sweetheart, was it not his own fault? his sluggish tranquillity, the look of indifference with which he met her anger, his round shoulders, his enlarged stomach,[pg 282] all that dreadful fat, resembling happiness, completed her exasperation, she who suffered. her one thought, now, was to break with him, to get away, to go and begin life again elsewhere. oh! could she but commence again, wipe out the past, return to the life she led previous to all these abominations, find herself as she was at fifteen, and love, and be loved, and live as she dreamed of living then!
for a week, she courted the idea of taking flight: she would leave with jacques, they would conceal themselves in belgium, where they would set up housekeeping as a hard-working young couple. but she had not spoken to him on the subject. obstacles had at once come in the way: their irregular position, the constant anxiety in which they would find themselves, and particularly the annoyance of leaving her fortune to her husband—the money, la croix-de-maufras.
by a donation to the survivor of the pair—which is possible in france, and cannot be revoked without the consent of both parties—they had willed everything away; and she found herself in his power, in that legal tutelage of a wife which tied her hands. rather than leave, and abandon even a sou, she would have preferred to die there. one day when he came up, livid, to say that crossing the line in front of a locomotive he had felt the buffer graze his elbow, she reflected that if he had been killed, she would have been free. she observed him with her great staring eyes; why on earth did he not die, since she had ceased to love him, and he was now in the way of everyone?
from that moment the dream of séverine changed: roubaud had been killed in an accident, and she left with jacques for america. but they were married. they had sold la croix-de-maufras, and realised all the fortune. behind them they left nothing they were afraid of. if they emigrated, it was to be born again in the arms of one another. over there, naught would exist of the events she wished to forget, and[pg 283] she could imagine she was beginning a new life. as she had made a mistake, she would engage in the experience of happiness again at the commencement. he would find employment; she could undertake something else. they would make their fortune. perhaps children might come, and there would be a new existence of labour and felicity.
as soon as she was alone in bed in the morning, and while engaged on her embroidery in the daytime, she resumed the construction of this castle in the air, modifying, enlarging, ceaselessly adding delightful details to it, and ended by imagining herself overwhelmed with joy and riches. she, who formerly went out so rarely, had now a passion for going to see the mail-steamers put to sea: she ran down to the jetty, leant over the balustrade, followed the smoke of the vessel until it became lost in the haze of the offing; and she fancied herself on deck with jacques, already far from france, steaming for the paradise of her dreams.
one evening in the month of march, jacques having taken the risk of going up to see her, related that he had brought one of his old schoolfellows in his train from paris, who was leaving for new york, to bring out a new invention, a machine for making buttons; and, as he wanted an engineer as partner, he had offered to take the driver with him. oh! it was a magnificent enterprise, only requiring the investment of 30,000 frcs., a matter of ￡1,200, and in which there were perhaps millions to be made. jacques merely mentioned the subject casually, and concluded by saying that he had of course refused the offer. nevertheless, he felt a bit sorry, for it is hard to turn the back on fortune when it comes to one.
séverine, on her feet, listened to him with vacant eyes. was not this her dream which was going to be realised?
"ah!" murmured she at last, "we would start to-morrow——"
[pg 284]
he raised his head in surprise, and interrupted her with the inquiry:
"what do you mean by we would start?"
"yes, if he were dead," she replied.
she had not named roubaud, but he understood, and gave a vague gesture to say that, unfortunately, he was not dead.
"we would set out," she resumed in her slow, deep voice, "and we should be so happy over there! i could get the 30,000 frcs. by selling the property, and i should still have enough to enable us to settle down. you could turn the cash to account; i would arrange a little home, where we would love one another with all our might. oh! it would be so nice, so nice!"
and she added, very low:
"far from all recollection of the past, and only new times ahead of us!"
he felt deeply affected. their two hands joined, and pressed one another instinctively. then came a pause, both séverine and jacques being rapt in this hope. it was she who broke the silence.
"all the same, it would be best for you to see your friend again before his departure, and ask him not to take a partner without letting you know," she suggested.
once more he was surprised.
"what is the use of that?" he inquired.
"good heavens! who knows?" she answered. "the other day, with that locomotive! another second and i was free. one is alive in the morning, and dead at night. is it not true?"
looking at him fixedly, she repeated:
"ah! if he were only dead!"
"but you don't want me to kill him, do you?" he inquired, trying to smile.
thrice she answered no; but her eyes said yes—those eyes of a tender-hearted woman, who had abandoned herself to[pg 285] the inexorable cruelty of her passion. as he had killed another, why should not he be killed himself? this idea had abruptly begun to assert itself as a consequence of the crime, a necessary termination to the difficulty. kill him and go away: nothing could be more simple. when he was once dead, everything would be over, and she could begin again. she saw no other solution possible, and her resolution was irrevocably taken; but, not having the courage of her violence, she continued, in slightly wavering tones, to say no.
jacques, standing with his back to the sideboard, still affected to smile. he had just caught sight of the knife lying there.
"if you want me to kill him," said he, his smile broadening into a laugh, "you must give me the knife. i already have the watch, and this will help to make me a small museum."
"take the knife," she gravely answered.
and when he had put it in his pocket, as if to carry on the joke to the end, he kissed her.
"and now, good-night," he said. "i shall go and see my friend at once, and tell him to wait. if it does not rain next saturday, come and meet me behind the cottage of sauvagnat, eh? is that understood? and rest assured that we will kill no one. it's only a joke."
nevertheless, in spite of the late hour, jacques went down towards the port to find the comrade leaving on the morrow. he spoke to him of a legacy he might receive, and asked for a fortnight before giving a definite answer. then, on his way back towards the station by the great dark avenues, he thought the matter over, and felt astonished at what he had just done. had he then resolved to kill roubaud, since he was disposing of his wife and money? no, indeed, he had come to no decision, and if he took these precautions, it was no doubt in case he should decide. but the recollection of séverine entered his mind, the burning pressure of her hand, her fixed eyes saying yes, while her lips said no.[pg 286] she evidently wanted him to kill her husband. he felt very much troubled. what should he do?
when jacques returned to the rue fran?ois-mazeline and lay down in his bed, beside that of pecqueux, who was snoring, he could not sleep. do what he would, his brain set to work on this idea of murder, this web of a drama that he was arranging, and whose most far-reaching consequences he calculated. he thought. he weighed the reasons for, and the reasons against. summing up calmly, without the least excitement, after reflection, everything was in favour of the crime. was not roubaud the sole obstacle to his happiness? with roubaud dead, he would marry séverine, whom he adored. besides, there was the money—a fortune.
he would give up his hard handicraft, and in his turn become an employer of labour, in that america of which he heard his comrades talk as of a country where engine-men shovelled in the gold. his new existence, over there, would unfold like a dream: a wife who passionately loved him, millions to be earned at once, a grand style of living, unlimited scope for ambition; in fact, anything he pleased. and to realise this dream he had only to make a movement, only to suppress a man, the insect, the plant in your way on the path, and which you trample on. he was not even interesting, this man who had now grown fat and heavy, who was plunged in that stupid passion for cards, which had destroyed his former energy. why spare him? there was nothing, absolutely nothing to plead in his favour. everything condemned him, because in response to each question, came the answer that it was to the interest of others he should die. to hesitate would be idiotic and cowardly.
jacques bounded in his bed, starting at a thought, at first vague, and then abruptly so piercing that he felt it like a prick in his skull. he, who from childhood desired to kill, who was ravaged to the point of torture by the horror of that fixed idea, why did he not kill roubaud?[pg 287] perhaps, on this selected victim, he would for ever assuage his thirst for murder; and, in that way, he would not only do a good stroke of business, but he would be cured as well. cured, great god! he became bathed in perspiration. he saw himself with the knife in his hand, striking at the throat of roubaud as the latter had struck the president, and become satisfied and appeased in proportion as the wound bled upon his hands. he would kill him. he was resolved to do so, for that would give him his cure, as well as the woman he adored, and fortune. as he had to kill somebody, since he must kill, he would kill this man, with the knowledge at all events that what he did was done rationally, by interest and logic.
three o'clock in the morning had just struck, when this decision was arrived at, and jacques endeavoured to sleep. he was already dozing off when a violent start brought him up in his bed in a sitting posture, choking. kill this man! great god! had he the right? when a fly pestered him he crushed it with a smack. one day when a cat got between his legs he broke its spine by a kick, without wishing to do so, it is true. but this man, his fellow creature! he had to resume all his reasoning to prove to himself that he had a right to commit murder—the right of the strong who find the weak in their way and devour them. it was he whom the wife of the other one loved at this hour, and she wanted to be free to marry him and bring him what she possessed.
when two wolves met in the wood, and a she-wolf was there, did not the stronger rid himself of the other with his fangs? and in ancient times, when men found refuge in the caverns, like the wolves, did not the coveted woman belong to that man in the band who could win her in the blood of his rivals? then, as this was the law of life, it should be obeyed, apart from the scruples invented later on to regulate existence in common.
[pg 288]
little by little his right appeared to him absolute, and he felt his resolution affirmed. on the morrow he would select the spot and hour, and make preparations for the deed. doubtless it would be best to stab roubaud at night on the station premises, during one of his rounds, so as to convey the impression that he had fallen a victim to some thieves he had surprised. he knew a good place, over there behind the coal heaps, if roubaud could only be attracted to the spot. in spite of his desire to sleep, he could not help arranging the scene then, debating in his mind where he would place himself, how he would strike, so as to stretch his victim at his feet; and insensibly, invincibly, as he went into the smallest details, his repugnance returned, inner protestation gained the upper hand.
no, no, he would not deal the blow! it appeared to him monstrous, a thing that could not be done, impossible. the civilised man within him, influenced by the power acquired through education, by the slowly erected and indestructible edifice of ideas handed down to him, revolted. kill not! he had taken in that law at the breast, with the milk of generations. his refined brain, furnished with scruples, repelled the thought of murder with horror, as soon as he began to reason about it. yes, kill by necessity, instinctively, in a fit of passion; but kill deliberately, by calculation and interest, no, he could never, never do it!
dawn was breaking when jacques succeeded in dozing off, but his sleep was so light that the debate continued confusedly in his mind, causing him abominable suffering. the ensuing days were the most painful of his existence. he avoided séverine. dreading her look, he sent her word not to come to the appointment on the saturday. but the following monday he was obliged to meet her; and, as he had feared, her great blue eyes, so soft and deep, filled him with anguish. she did not refer to the subject, she did not make a sign, nor say a word to urge him on, only[pg 289] her eyes were full of the thing, questioning, imploring him. he hardly knew which way to turn to avoid their impatient and reproachful gaze. he always found them fixed on his own eyes, in an expression of astonishment that he could hesitate to be happy.
when he kissed her at parting, he abruptly strained her to him, to give her to understand that he had resolved to act. and so, indeed, he had, until he reached the bottom of the stairs and found himself struggling with his conscience again. when he saw her, two days later, he was pale with confusion, and had the furtive look of a coward who hesitates in face of a necessary action. she burst into sobs without saying a word, weeping with her arms round his neck, horribly unhappy; and he, quite unhinged, felt the utmost contempt for himself. he must put an end to it.
"on thursday, over there, will you?" she inquired in a low voice.
"yes, on thursday i will wait for you," he answered.
on that particular thursday the night was very dark, a starless sky, opaque and heavy, loaded with mist from the sea. jacques, as usual, arrived the first, and, standing behind the cottage of the sauvagnats, watched for séverine. but the gloom was so intense, and she hurried along so lightly, that she brushed against him before he caught sight of her, making him start. she was already in his arms, and alarmed at feeling him tremble, she murmured:
"did i frighten you?"
"no, no," he replied, "i was expecting you. let us walk on; no one can see us."
and with their arms round the waists of one another, they strolled slowly over the vacant ground. there were but few gas-lamps on this side of the dep?t. in some gloomy quarters there were none at all; whereas they swarmed in the distance, near the station, like a quantity of bright sparks.
[pg 290]
jacques and séverine walked about for a long time without a word. she had rested her head on his shoulder, and raised it ever and anon to kiss him on the chin; while he, bending down, returned the kiss on her forehead at the roots of her hair. the grave, solitary stroke of one o'clock in the morning, had just resounded from air the distant churches. if they failed to speak, it was because they felt they were both thinking. they were thinking of nothing but that one subject. it was impossible for them to be together now without finding themselves beset by it. the mental debate continued. what was the use of saying useless words aloud, as it was necessary to act? when she raised herself against him for a caress, she felt the knife, which formed a lump in his pocket. could it be possible that he had made up his mind?
but her thoughts were too much for her, and her lips parted in a murmur that was scarcely audible:
"just now he came upstairs; i was wondering what for. then i saw him take his revolver, which he had forgotten. he is certainly going to make a round."
they resumed silence, and it was only twenty paces further on that he, in his turn, remarked:
"last night some thieves took away the lead from here. he will come along presently for sure."
she gave a little shudder; both became silent, and they walked on more slowly. then she had a doubt: was it really the knife that formed the lump in his pocket? twice she stooped down knocking against it to get a better idea. then, being still uncertain, she let her hand drop, and felt. it was the knife sure enough. and jacques, understanding her thoughts, suddenly strained her to him stammering into her ear:
"he will come, and you shall be free."
the murder was decided. they no longer seemed to be walking. it appeared to them that some strange force sent[pg 291] them along just above the ground. their senses had, all at once, become extremely acute, particularly the touch, for their hands, resting one in the other, were in pain, and the slightest brush of the lips was like a scratch. they also heard sounds which were lost a moment before—the rumble, the distant puffs of the engines, the muffled shocks, footsteps wandering in the depth of the obscurity. and they could see into the night; they distinguished the black spots of objects as if a mist had been removed from their eyes, they were able to follow the sharp curves described in the air by a passing bat. they stopped, motionless, at the corner of a heap of coal, ears and eyes on the alert, and with all their beings in a state of tension; they now spoke in whispers.
"did you hear that?" she inquired. "over there, somebody calling."
"no," he replied, "they're putting a carriage into the coach-house."
"but there, someone is walking on our left," said she. "i heard the sound on the gravel."
"no, no," he answered, "rats are running over the coal heaps, and some of the pieces rolled down."
several minutes passed. suddenly it was she who strained him to her more closely.
"there he is!" she exclaimed.
"where? i can't see him," said he.
"he has turned round the shed of the slow-train goods department," she continued. "he is coming straight towards us. look at his shadow, passing along the white wall!"
"do you think it is? that dark spot? then he must be alone," he said.
"yes, alone. he is alone," she repeated.
and at this decisive moment she passionately threw herself on his neck, she pressed her burning lips to his. it was a prolonged embrace, in which she would have wished to have conveyed her own blood to him. how she loved him![pg 292] and how she execrated the other! ah! had she but dared, twenty times over she would have done the business herself, to spare him the horror; but her hands were unequal to the effort, she felt herself too feeble, it required the fist of a man. and this kiss, which was without end, was all she could breathe to him of her own courage.
a locomotive whistled in the distance, casting to the night a melancholy lamentation of distress. at regular intervals they could hear the loud strokes of a colossal hammer coming from an undeterminable direction. the vapour ascending from the sea sailed across the sky in chaotic confusion, while drifting shreds seemed at moments to extinguish the bright sparks of the gas-lamps. when séverine at length removed her mouth from his, it seemed as if she had ceased to exist, as if all her soul had passed into him.
jacques abruptly opened the knife. but with a stifled oath, he exclaimed:
"it's all up! he's off!"
and so it was. the moving shadow, after approaching to within fifty paces of them, had just turned to the left, and was retreating with the even step of a night watchman who had no cause for alarm.
then she pushed him.
"go on, go on!" said she.
and they both started. he ahead; she close at his heels. they glided behind the man, hunting him down, careful not to make a noise. then as they took a short cut across a shunting-line, they found him twenty paces at the most away. they had to take advantage of every bit of wall for shelter. one false step would have betrayed them.
"we shall never reach him," said he, in a hollow voice. "if he attains the box of the pointsman he will escape."
she continued, repeating behind him:
"go on, go on!"
at this minute, surrounded by the vast flat waste ground[pg 293] plunged in obscurity, amidst the nocturnal desolation of a great railway station, he was resolved to act, as in that solitude which is the natural attendant on assassination. and while he stealthily hastened his steps, he became excited, reasoning with himself, supplying himself with arguments that were to make this murder a wise, legitimate action, logically debated and decided on. it certainly was a right that he would be exercising, the right even of life, as this blood of another was indispensable to his own existence. he had merely to plunge this knife into the man to win happiness.
"we shall not get him, we shall not get him," he repeated furiously, observing the shadow pass beyond the box of the pointsman. "it's all up! there he is, going off."
but séverine abruptly caught him by the arm with her nervous hand, and brought him to a standstill against her.
"look!" she exclaimed, "he's coming back!"
roubaud, indeed, was retracing his steps. he had gone to the right, then he returned. perhaps, behind him, he had felt the vague sensation of the murderers on his track. nevertheless, he continued to walk at his usual tranquil pace, like a conscientious watchman, who will not retire to his quarters without having taken a glance everywhere.
jacques and séverine, pulled up short in their race, no longer moved. chance had placed them right at the angle of the heap of coal. they pressed their backs so closely to it that they seemed to form part of the black mass. there, without a breath, they watched roubaud advancing towards them. they were barely separated from him by thirty yards. each stride lessened the distance, regularly, as if timed by the inexorable pendulum of destiny. another twenty, another ten paces, and jacques would have the man before him. he would raise his arm in such a manner and plunge the knife in the throat of roubaud, drawing it from right to left so as to stifle his shriek. the seconds seemed interminable. such a flood of thoughts ran through the blank[pg 294] in his skull that the measure of time no longer existed. all the reasons that had brought him to his determination filed past once more. he again distinctly saw the murder, the causes and the consequences. another five steps. his resolution, strained fit to break, remained firm. he wanted to kill; he knew why he would kill.
but at two paces, at one pace, came a downfall; everything gave way within him at a single stroke. no, no! he would not, he could not kill a defenceless man in this way. reasoning would never suffice for murder; it required the instinct to bite, the spring that sends the destroyer on the prey, the hunger or passion that makes him tear it to pieces. what matter if conscience were merely made up of ideas transmitted by a slow heredity of justice! he did not feel that he had the right to kill, and do what he would, he was unable to persuade himself that he could take it.
roubaud passed slowly by. his elbow almost grazed the other two in the coal. a breath would have betrayed them; but they remained as dead. the arm did not rise; it did not plunge in the knife. no quiver disturbed the dense obscurity, not even a shudder. roubaud was already far, ten paces off; but they were still standing there motionless, their backs riveted to the black heap. both were without breath, in terror of this man, alone and unarmed, who had just brushed past them so peacefully.
jacques, choking with rage and shame, gave a sob.
"i cannot do it! i cannot do it!" he repeated.
he wanted to take séverine to him again, to press against her, with the desire to be excused and consoled. she escaped without a word. he had stretched out his hands, but only to catch her skirt, which slipped from his fingers; and he heard nothing, save her light, fleeting footsteps. her sudden disappearance completely undid him, and he pursued her for an instant or two; but in vain. was she then so very angry at his weakness? did she despise him?[pg 295] prudence prevented him rejoining her. when he found himself alone on this extensive flat land, studded with small yellow flames of gas, he felt overwhelmed with despair, and hastened to leave it, to go and bury his head in his pillow, there to forget the abomination of his existence.
it was a matter of ten days later, towards the end of march, that the roubauds at last triumphed over the lebleus. the railway company had recognised their appeal, supported by m. dabadie, as just; and the more easily did they arrive at this conclusion as the famous letter from the cashier, undertaking to give up the lodging if a new assistant station-master claimed it, had been found by mademoiselle guichon, while looking over some old accounts in the archives of the station. and madame lebleu, exasperated at her defeat, at once spoke of moving; as they wanted to kill her, she might just as well die now without waiting.
for three days this memorable removal kept the corridor in a fever. little madame moulin, herself usually so retiring, whom no one ever saw come in or go out, became implicated in the business by carrying a work-table from one lodging to the other. but it was particularly philomène who breathed the breath of discord. she had arrived there, to assist, from the very commencement, doing up packages, jostling the furniture, invading the lodging on the front before the tenant had left; and it was she who pushed her out, amidst the going and coming of the two sets of household goods, which had got mixed together, in wild confusion, in the course of transport. when philomène had carried off the last chair the doors banged; but perceiving a stool, which the wife of the cashier had forgotten, she opened again, and threw it across the corridor. that was the end.
philomène had reached the point of displaying such excessive zeal for jacques and all he loved, that pecqueux was astonished. feeling suspicious, he asked her, in his nasty, sly manner, with his air of a vindictive drunkard,[pg 296] whether she was now smitten with his driver, warning her that he would settle the account of both of them if he ever caught them together. her fancy for the young man had increased, and she acted as a sort of servant to him and his sweetheart, in the hope of gaining a little of his affection by placing herself between them.
life slowly resumed its monotonous course. while madame lebleu, at the back, riveted to her armchair by rheumatism, was dying of spleen, with great tears in her eyes because she could see nothing but the zinc roof of the marquee shutting out the sky, séverine worked at her interminable bed-covering beside one of the windows on the front. below, she had the lively activity of the courtyard, the constant stream of pedestrians and carriages. the forward spring was already turning the buds of the great trees that lined the pavements green, and beyond, the distant hills of ingouville displayed their wooded slopes, studded with the white spots of country houses.
but she felt astonished to find so little pleasure in the realisation of this dream at last, to be there, in this coveted apartment, with space, daylight, and sun before her. when her charwoman, mother simon, grumbled, furious at finding herself disturbed in her habits, she lost patience, and at times regretted her old hole, as she termed it, where the dirt could not be so easily seen.
roubaud had simply let matters take their course. he did not seem to be aware that he had changed his abode. he frequently made mistakes, and only perceived his error on finding that his new key would not enter the old lock. he absented himself more and more. the irregularity of his life continued. nevertheless, at one moment he seemed to brighten up under the influence of a revival of his political ideas. not that they were very clear or very ardent, but he had at heart that trouble with the sub-prefect, which had almost cost him his position.
[pg 297]
now that the empire, which had met with a severe shock at the general elections, was passing through a terrible crisis, he triumphed, and he repeated that those people would not always be the masters. but a friendly warning from m. dabadie, who heard about the matter from mademoiselle guichon, in whose presence the revolutionary remark had been made, sufficed to calm him. as the corridor was quiet, and everyone lived at peace, now that madame lebleu was drooping with sadness, why cause fresh annoyance on the subject of the government? roubaud simply shrugged his shoulders. he cared not a fig about politics, nor anything else! growing fatter and fatter, day by day, and free from remorse, he moved along with heavy tread and an air of indifference.
the feeling of constraint had increased between séverine and jacques, since they were able to meet at any time. nothing now interfered with their happiness. he ran up to see her by the other staircase whenever he pleased, without fear of being spied upon. but the recollection of the thing that had not been realised, of the deed that both had consented to, and wished to see done, and which he failed to perform, had created an uneasiness, an insurmountable barrier between them. he, coming with the shame of his weakness, found her on each occasion more depressed, sick at waiting uselessly. their lips no longer even sought one another, for they had exhausted this semi-felicity; what they desired was complete happiness—the departure, the marriage over there, the other life.
one night jacques found séverine in tears, and when she perceived him, she did not stop, but sobbed louder, hanging round his neck. she had already wept like this, but he had appeased her with an embrace; whereas now, with her to his heart, he felt her ravaged with increasing despair the more he pressed her to him. he was quite unhinged. at last, taking her head between his two hands, and looking at her quite close, into her streaming eyes, he made a vow,[pg 298] thoroughly understanding that if she despaired to this extent, it was because she felt herself a woman, and in her passive gentleness, dared not strike with her own hand.
"forgive me!" said he; "wait a little longer. i swear to you that i will do it shortly, as soon as i can."
she immediately pressed her lips to his, as if to seal this oath, and they enjoyed one of those deep kisses in which they mingled one with the other, in the communion of their flesh.