aunt phasie died, in a final convulsion, at nine o'clock on thursday evening; and misard, standing at the bedside, tried in vain to close her lids. the eyes obstinately remained open. the head had become rigid, and was slightly inclined over the shoulder, as if looking about the room, while a contraction of the lips seemed to have curled them upward in a jeering smile. a single candle, stuck on the corner of a table near her, lighted the surroundings; and the trains passing by, full speed, in ignorance of the corpse being there, made it quiver for a second or two in the vacillating light.
misard, to get rid of flore, at once sent her off to doinville to apprise the authorities of the decease. she could not be back until eleven o'clock, so that he had two hours before him. he first of all quietly cut himself a slice of bread, for he felt hungry, having gone without his dinner on account of the death agony, which seemed interminable. and he ate standing up, going and coming, arranging one thing and another about the room. fits of coughing brought him to a standstill, bent him double. he was half dead himself. so thin, so puny, with his leaden eyes and discoloured hair, that he did not seem likely to enjoy his victory for long.
no matter, he had devoured this buxom wife, this tall, handsome woman, as the insect eats down the oak. she was on her back, polished off, reduced to nothing, and he still lasted. but why had she been so obstinate? she had tried to be cunning; so much the worse for her. when a married couple[pg 300] play the game of seeing which shall bury the other, without putting anyone in the secret, it is necessary to keep a sharp look out. he was proud of his achievement, and chuckled to himself as if it were a good joke.
at that instant an express train swept by, enveloping the low habitation in such a gust of tempest, that in spite of his habit, he turned towards the window with a start. ah! yes, that constant flood, that mass of people coming from every quarter, who knew nothing about what they crushed on the road, and did not care, in such a hurry were they to go to the devil! and turning round again, in the oppressive silence, he met the two wide open eyes of the corpse, whose steady pupils seemed to follow each of his movements, while the corners of the mouth curled upward in a smile.
misard, usually so phlegmatic, made a slight movement of anger. he thoroughly understood; she was saying to him: "search! search!" but surely she could not have taken her 1,000 frcs. away with her; and now that she no longer existed, he would end by finding them. ought she not to have given them up willingly? it would have prevented all this annoyance. the eyes followed him everywhere. search! search!
he now ferreted all over this room, which he had not dared rout out so long as she lived. first of all, in the cupboard. he took the keys from under the bolster, upset the shelves loaded with linen, emptied the two drawers, pulled them out even, to ascertain if they concealed a hiding-place. no, nothing! after that, he thought of the night-table. he unglued the marble top and turned it over, but to no purpose. with a flat rule he probed behind the chimney glass, one of those thin glasses sold in the fairs, that was fastened to the wall by a couple of nails; but only to draw out a cobweb black with dust. search! search!
then to escape those wide-open eyes which he felt resting on him, he sank down on all fours, tapping lightly[pg 301] on the tiles with his knuckles, listening whether some resonance would not reveal a hole. several tiles being loose, he tore them up. there was nothing, still nothing! when he rose to his feet again, the eyes once more caught him. he wheeled round, wishing to stare straight into the fixed orbs of the dead woman, who, from the corners of her curled-up lips, seemed to accentuate her terrible laugh. there could be no doubt about it, she was mocking him. search! search!
he began to feel feverish. a suspicion came upon him, a sacrilegious idea, that made his livid countenance grow paler still, and he approached the corpse. what had made him think that she could surely not have taken her 1,000 frcs. away with her? perhaps, after all, she was carrying them off. and he had the courage to uncover, to undress, and search the body, as she told him to search. he looked beneath her, behind the nape of her neck, everywhere. the bedding was all upset. he buried his arm in the paillasse up to the shoulder, and found nothing. search! search! and the head of the dead woman fell back on the pillow, which was all in disorder, with the pupils of her bantering eyes still observing him.
as misard, furious and trembling, tried to arrange the bed, flore came in, on her return from doinville.
"it will be for the day after to-morrow, at eleven o'clock," said she.
she spoke of the burial. she understood at a glance what kind of work had made misard lose his breath during her absence, and she made a gesture of disdainful indifference.
"you may just as well give it up," said she. "you'll never find them."
imagining she also was braving him, he advanced towards her with set teeth.
"she gave them you, or you know where they are?" said he inquiringly.
[pg 302]
the idea that her mother could have given her 1,000 frcs. to anyone, even to her daughter, made her shrug her shoulders.
"ah! to blazes! gave them," she replied; "yes, gave them to the earth! look, they are there! you can search."
and, with a broad gesture, she indicated the entire house, the garden with its well, the metal way, all the vast country. yes, somewhere about there, at the bottom of a hole, in a place where none would ever find them. then, while misard, beside himself with anxiety, began twisting and turning the furniture about again, sounding the walls, without showing any constraint at her presence, the young girl, standing before the window, continued in a subdued voice:
"oh! it is so mild outside. such a lovely night! i walked quick. the stars make it like broad daylight. to-morrow, how beautiful it will be at sunrise!"
flore remained for an instant at the window, with her eyes on the serene country, stirred by this first gentle warmth of april, from which she had just returned thoughtful, and suffering more acutely from her vivified torment. but when she heard misard leave the apartment, and continue his tenacious search in the adjoining rooms, she, in her turn, approached the bed, seating herself with her eyes on her mother. the candle continued burning at the corner of the table, with a long, motionless flame. a passing train jolted the house.
flore had resolved to remain there all night, and she sat pondering. first of all, the sight of the dead woman drew her from her fixed idea, from the thing that haunted her, which she had been debating in her mind beneath the stars, in the peaceful obscurity, all the way from doinville. surprise now set her suffering at rest. why had she not displayed more grief at the death of her mother? and why, at this moment even, did she not shed tears?
indeed, she loved her well, notwithstanding her shyness of a great, silent girl, who was for ever breaking away[pg 303] beating about the fields, as soon as released from duty. twenty times over during the last crisis which was to kill her mother, she had come and sat there to implore her to call in a doctor; for she guessed what misard was after, and was in hopes that fear would stop him. but she had never been able to obtain anything more from the invalid than a furious no. it seemed as if her mother took pride in accepting no assistance in the struggle, certain of the victory in spite of everything, as she carried off the cash; and then flore ceased to interfere. beset by her own chagrin, she disappeared, careering hither and thither to forget.
assuredly this was what barred her heart. when a person has too keen a trouble, there is no room for another. her mother had gone; she saw her there, destroyed, and so pallid, without being able to feel any more sad, notwithstanding her efforts. call in the gendarmes! denounce misard! what would be the use of it, as there was about to be a general upheaval? and, little by little, invincibly, although her eyes remained fixed on the dead body, she ceased to perceive it. she returned to her own inner vision, occupied entirely by the idea that had planted itself in her brain, alive to nothing but the heavy shock of the trains, whose passage told her the time.
the approaching thunder of a slow train from paris could be heard for an instant or two in the distance. when the locomotive at last flew by before the window, with its light, there came a flash, a perfect blaze in the room.
"eighteen minutes past one," thought flore. "seven hours more. this morning at 8.16 they will come past."
every week for months she had been worried by this expectation. she knew that on friday morning the express driven by jacques also took séverine to paris, and tortured by jealousy, she only lived, as it were, to watch them. oh! that train flying along, and the abominable sensation she felt[pg 304] at being unable to cling on to the last carriage, so as to be also borne away! she fancied that all these wheels were cutting up her heart. she suffered so keenly that one night, having hidden herself, she prepared to write to the judicial authorities; for it would be all over if she could get this woman arrested. but, with the pen in her hand, she could never set the matter down. and, besides, would the authorities listen to her? all those fine people must be working together. perhaps they would even put her in prison, as they had done with cabuche.
no; she wanted to avenge herself, and she would do so alone, without the assistance of anyone. it was not even a thought of vengeance, as she understood the word, the idea of doing injury to cure herself. she felt the need of finishing with the matter, of upsetting everything, as if thunder and lightning had swept the couple away. being very proud, more solidly built, and handsomer than the other, she felt convinced of her firm right to be loved; and when she went off alone along the paths of this abandoned district, with her heavy helmet of light hair, ever bare, she would have liked to come face to face with that other one, so as to settle their quarrel at the corner of a wood, after the manner of two hostile warrior women. never yet had a man touched her; she thrashed the males, and that constituted her invincible strength. therefore, she would be victorious.
the week before, this idea had suddenly been planted, driven into her head as by the blow of a hammer, come from she knew not where: kill them, so that they might no longer pass by, no longer go there together. she did not reason, she obeyed the savage instinct of destruction. when a thorn entered her flesh, she plucked it out. she would have cut off her finger. kill them, kill them the first time they passed; and to do that, upset the train, drag a sleeper across the line, tear up a rail, smash everything. he, on his engine, would certainly remain there, stretched out;[pg 305] the woman, always in the first carriage, so as to be nearer to him, could not escape; as for the others, that constant stream of passengers, she had not even a thought. they did not count, she did not know them! and at every hour she was beset by this idea of destroying the train, of making this huge sacrifice of lives. what she desired was an unique catastrophe, sufficiently great, sufficiently deep in human gore and suffering, for her to bathe therein her enormous heart swollen with tears.
nevertheless, on the friday morning, she had given way, not having yet decided at what spot nor in what manner she would remove a rail. but the same night, being off duty, she had an idea, and went prowling through the tunnel as far as the dieppe embranchment. this was one of her walks, this trip through the subterranean passage, a good half league in length, along this vaulted avenue, quite straight, where she felt the emotion of trains with their blinding lights rolling over her. each time, she had a narrow escape of being cut to pieces, and it must have been the peril that attracted her there in a spirit of bravado.
but on this particular night, having escaped the vigilance of the watchman and advanced to the middle of the tunnel, keeping to the left, so as to make sure that any train coming towards her would pass on her right, she had the imprudence to face about, just to follow the lights of a train on the way to havre; and when she resumed walking, a false step having made her swing round again, she lost all knowledge of the direction in which the red lights had just disappeared.
notwithstanding her courage, she stopped, still dizzy with the clatter of the wheels, her hands cold, her bare hair starting up in a breath of terror. she now imagined that when another train came along, she would not know whether it was an up or a down train. with an effort she endeavoured to retain her reason, to remember, to think the matter[pg 306] over. then, all at once, terror sent her along, haphazard, straight before her, at a frantic pace. no, no! she would not be killed before she had killed the other two!
her feet were caught in the rails, she slipped, fell, rose up, and ran faster than before. she became affected with tunnel madness. the walls seemed drawing close to one another to squeeze her, the vaulted roof echoed imaginary sounds, menacing utterances, formidable roars. at every moment she turned her head, fancying she felt the burning steam of an engine on her neck. twice the sudden conviction that she had made a mistake, that she would be killed from the end she was fleeing to, made her at a bound change the direction of her flight.
and she was tearing onward, onward, when in front of her, in the distance, appeared a star, a round flaming eye, increasing in size. but she resisted the intense temptation to again retrace her steps. the eye became a lighted brazier, the mouth of a devouring furnace. blinded, she sprang to the left, at hazard; and the train passed, like a clap of thunder, doing nothing more than beat her cheek with its tempestuous blast of wind. five minutes later, she issued from the malaunay end of the tunnel safe and sound.
it was then nine o'clock, a few minutes more and the paris express would be there. she immediately continued her excursion at a walking pace, to the dieppe embranchment, a matter of two hundred yards or so further on, examining the metals in search of something that might serve her purpose. it so happened that her friend ozil had just switched a ballast train on to the dieppe line, which was undergoing repair, and it was standing there. in a sudden flash of enlightenment she conceived a plan: simply prevent the pointsman from putting the switch-tongue back on the havre line, so that the express would dash into the ballast train.
[pg 307]
she felt a friendship for this ozil since the day she had nearly broken his head with a blow from a stick, and she was fond of paying him unexpected visits like this, running through the tunnel after the fashion of a goat escaped from its mountain. an old soldier, very thin and little talkative, a slave to duty, his eyes ever on the look-out, day and night, he had not yet been guilty of a single act of negligence. only this wild creature, who had beaten him, sturdy as a young man, could make him do what she pleased merely by beckoning to him with her little finger.
and so, on this particular night, when she approached his box in the dark, calling him outside, he went to her, forgetting everything. she made his head swim as she led him out into the country, relating complicated tales about her mother being ill, and that she would not remain at la croix-de-maufras if she lost her. her ear caught the roar of the express in the distance, leaving malaunay, approaching at full speed. and when she felt it hard by, she turned round to look. but she had been reckoning without the new connecting apparatus: the locomotive, in passing on to the dieppe line, had itself just caused the danger signal to be displayed; and the driver was able to stop at a few paces from the ballast train.
ozil, with the shout of a man awakened in a house tumbling down, regained his box at a run; while flore, stiff and motionless, watched the man?uvre necessitated by the accident in the darkness of night. two days later, the pointsman, who had been removed, having no suspicion of her duplicity, called to bid her farewell, imploring her to join him as soon as she lost her mother. so her plot came to nothing, and she would have to think of something else.
at this moment, under the influence of the recollection she had evoked, the mist of reverie clouding her eyes disappeared, and again she perceived the corpse in the light of the yellow flame of the candle. her mother was no more.[pg 308] should she leave, and wed ozil, who wanted her, and would perhaps make her happy? all her being revolted at the idea. no, no. if she had the cowardice to allow the other two to live and to live herself, she would prefer to tramp the roads, to take a situation as servant, rather than belong to a man she did not love. and a sound, to which she was unaccustomed, having caused her to listen, she understood that misard with a mattock was engaged in excavating the beaten earth floor of the kitchen. he was going mad in his search for the hoard; he would have gutted the house. no, she would not remain with this one either. what was she going to do? there came a blast of wind, the walls vibrated, and on the pallid countenance of the corpse passed the reflex of a furnace, conveying a blood-like hue to the open eyes, and to the ironic rictus of the lips. it was the last slow train from paris, with its ponderous, sluggish engine.
flore had turned her head, and looked at the stars shining in the serenity of this spring night.
"ten minutes past three," she murmured. "another five hours, and they will pass."
she would begin over again; her suffering was too great. to see them like this each week was more than her strength could bear. now that she was sure of not having jacques to herself alone, she preferred that he should no longer exist, that there should be nothing. and the aspect of this lugubrious room, where she sat watching, imbued her with mournful suffering, and made her feel an increasing need to annihilate everything. as there remained no one who loved her, the others could go with her mother. as for corpses, there would be more and more still, and they could carry them all away at the same time. her sister was dead, her mother was dead, her love was dead. what could she do? remain alone? whether she stayed or left, she would always be alone, while the others would be two together. no, no! let everything go to smash rather than that. let death,[pg 309] who was there in this room, blow on the line and sweep the people away.
then, with her mind made up after this long debate with herself, she proceeded to think out the best way of putting her design into execution. and she returned to the idea of removing a rail. this would be the surest and most practical plan, and could be easily carried out; she had only to drive away the chairs with a hammer, and then raise the rail from the sleepers. she had the tools. nobody would see her in this deserted district. a good spot to select would certainly be beyond the cutting, on the way to barentin, at the curve which crossed a dale on an embankment thirty or thirty-five feet high. there the train would for sure run off the line, and the fall would be terrible.
but the calculation of time, which then occupied her, made her anxious. on the up-line, before the havre express came by at 8.16, there was only a slow train at 7.55. this would therefore give her twenty minutes to do the work, which was sufficient. only, between the regular trains, they often dispatched others that were unforeseen, loaded with goods, particularly at moments when quantities of cargo arrived. then what a useless risk she would be incurring! how could she tell beforehand whether it would be the express that would come to smash there? for a long time she turned the probabilities over in her head. it was still night. the candle continued to burn, bathed in tallow, with a long, smutty wick which she had ceased to snuff.
just as a goods train arrived from rouen, misard returned. his hands were covered with dirt, for he had been rummaging in the woodhouse, and he was out of breath, distracted at his vain efforts to lay hands on the treasure. he had become so feverish with impotent rage, that he renewed his search under the articles of furniture, up the chimney, everywhere. there was no end to the interminable train, with the regular fracas of its great wheels, which at each shock jolted the[pg 310] dead woman in her bed. misard, stretching out his arm to take down a small picture, hanging against the wall, again met the open eyes following his motions, while the lips seemed to move with their laugh.
he became livid. he was shivering, and stuttered out in terrific anger:
"yes, yes; search! search! never mind, i shall find it, even if i have to turn over every stone in the house, and every clod of ground in the neighbourhood!"
the black train had passed by in the obscurity, with painful slowness, and the dead woman, who had become motionless again, continued looking at her husband so jeeringly, so certain of conquering, that he disappeared a second time, leaving the door open. flore, wandering in her reflections, had risen and closed the door, so that this man might not return to disturb her mother; and she felt astonished to hear herself saying aloud:
"ten minutes beforehand will do."
in fact, she would have time in ten minutes. if no train was signalled ten minutes before the express, she could set to work. the matter being now settled, certain, her anxiety ceased, and she was very calm.
day broke at about five o'clock, a fresh dawn, of pure limpidity. in spite of the slightly sharp cold, she set the window wide open, and the delicious morning air entered the lugubrious room, full of smoke and an odour of the dead. the sun was still below the horizon, behind a hillock crowned by trees; but it appeared with a rosy tint, streaming over the slopes, pouring into the deep roads, amidst the lively gaiety of the earth at each new spring. she had not been mistaken on the previous evening: it would be fine on that particular morning, one of those days of youth and radiant health on which one delights in life. how lovely it would be to set out along the goat paths at her own free will, in this deserted country among the continuous hills cut[pg 311] up by narrow dales! and when she turned round, facing the room, she was surprised to see the candle looking almost as if gone out, and with naught but a pale tear forming a spot in the broad daylight. the dead woman seemed now to be gazing on the line where the trains continued crossing one another, without even noticing this wan glimmer of a taper beside the corpse.
it was not until daylight that flore resumed duty, and she only quitted the room for the slow train from paris at 6.12. misard, at six o'clock, had also relieved his colleague, the night signalman. it was at the sound of his horn that she had come and placed herself before the gate, the flag in her hand. she followed the train an instant with her eyes.
"another two hours," thought she aloud.
her mother had no further need of anybody, and henceforth she experienced invincible repugnance to return to the room. it was all over, she had kissed her, and now she could dispose of her own existence and the lives of others. usually, between the trains, she escaped and disappeared; but on this particular morning a feeling of interest seemed to keep her at her post near the gate on a bench—a simple plank that happened to be beside the line. the sun was ascending on the horizon, a warm shower of gold fell into the pure air; and she did not move, but sat there wrapped in this sweetness, in the midst of the vast country all thrilling with the sap of april.
for a moment she watched misard in his wooden hut, on the other side of the line. he was visibly agitated, not having had his customary sleep. he went out, went in, worked his apparatus with a nervous hand, casting constant glances towards the house, as if his spirit had remained there and was still searching. then she forgot him, was unaware even of him being there. she was all expectant, absorbed, her lips speechless, her face rigid, her eyes fixed on the end of the line in the direction of barentin. and[pg 312] over there, in the gaiety of the sun, a vision must have risen up for her, on which the stubborn savageness of her look obstinately dwelt.
minutes slipped away, but flore did not move. at last, at 7.55, when misard with a couple of blasts from his horn signalled the slow train from havre on the up-line, she rose, closed the gate, and planted herself before it, her flag in her fist. the train was already fading away in the distance, after sending a tremor through the ground; and it could be heard plunging into the tunnel, where the sound ceased. she had not gone back to the bench, but remained on her feet again counting each minute. if no goods train was signalled within ten minutes, she would run over there beyond the cutting, and remove a rail.
she was very calm, only her chest felt a little tight under the enormous weight of the deed. but, at this moment, the thought that jacques and séverine were approaching, that they would pass by again if she did not stop them, sufficed to make her inexorably blind and deaf in her resolution, without even giving the matter any further consideration; it was the irrevocable, the blow from the paw of the she-wolf that breaks the back of the prey on the way. in the egotism of her vengeance, she saw only the two mutilated bodies, without troubling about the crowd, that stream of unknown people who had been filing past before her for years. there would be dead bodies, blood, the sun would perhaps be obscured by them, that sun whose tender gaiety irritated her.
two minutes more, one minute more, and she would be starting. indeed, she was starting, when some heavy jolting on the bécourt road stopped her. a cart, no doubt a stone dray; the carter would ask her to let him through. she would have to open the gate, engage in conversation, and remain there: it would be impossible for her to act, and she would miss her chance. with an enraged gesture of[pg 313] indifference, she ran off, leaving her post, abandoning the carter with his dray to do the best he could. but the lash of a whip cracked in the matutinal air, and a voice cried out gaily:
"hey! flore!"
it was cabuche. she stopped short, in her first spring, before the gate itself.
"what's up?" he continued. "are you still asleep with this beautiful sun shining? quick! let me get through before the express!"
she was completely undone. it was all over. the other two would proceed to their happiness without her being able to find any means to crush them here. and as she slowly opened the old, half-rotten gate, whose iron-work grated in its rust, she looked about her furiously for an object, something she could cast across the line; and she was in such despair, that she would have stretched her own self there, had she thought her bones hard enough to send the engine off the metals.
but her glance had just fallen on the dray, a heavy, low conveyance, loaded with two blocks of stone, which five strong horses found difficulty in drawing. these two enormous masses, high and broad, a colossal lump fit to bar the line, stood there before her; and abruptly a look of covetousness came into her eyes, accompanied by a mad desire to take and place them on the rails. the gate was wide open, the five steaming, panting cattle were there waiting.
"what is the matter with you this morning?" resumed cabuche. "you look quite funny."
then flore spoke.
"my mother died last night," said she.
he uttered a friendly exclamation of grief, and putting down his whip, took both her hands and pressed them in his own.
"oh! my poor flore!" he sighed. "it is only what one[pg 314] might have expected for a long time, but it is hard all the same. then she is there. i will go and look at her, for we should have ended by agreeing, but for this misfortune."
he walked slowly with her to the house, but on the threshold he cast a glance towards his horses. in one sentence she set his mind at rest.
"there is no fear of them moving," she said. "and, besides, the express is a long way off."
she lied. her experienced ear had just caught, in the gentle rustle of the country, the sound of the express leaving barentin station. another five minutes, and it would be there. it would issue from the cutting at a hundred yards from the level crossing.
while the quarryman stood in the room of the dead woman, feeling very much affected, with his thoughts adverting to louisette and oblivious of everything else, flore remained outside, in front of the window, listening to the distant regular puffing of the engine as it approached nearer and nearer. suddenly she remembered misard: he would see her, he would prevent her; and she felt a pang in the chest when, turning round, she could not perceive him in his box. but she discovered him on the other side of the house, digging up the ground at the foot of the masonry round the well, unable to overcome his searching mania, and doubtless all at once taken with the conviction that the hoard must be there. entirely absorbed by his blind, sullen passion, he searched, searched. and this was her last excitation. events themselves urged her on. one of the horses began to neigh, while the locomotive, at the other end of the cutting, puffed very loudly, like a person hastening along in a hurry.
"i'll go and keep them quiet," said flore to cabuche. "don't be afraid."
she sprang forward, grasped the leader of the team by the bit, and pulled with all her strapping strength of a[pg 315] wrestler. the horses strained. for an instant the dray, heavy with its enormous load, oscillated without advancing; but, as if she had harnessed herself to it like an extra animal, it at last moved and came across the line. it was right on the rails as the express, a hundred yards away, issued from the cutting. then to stop the dray, lest it should pass over, she arrested the further progress of the team with a sudden jerk requiring a superhuman effort that made her joints crack.
she who, it will be remembered, had her legend, of whom people related extraordinary feats of strength—the truck shooting down an incline, which she had brought to a standstill as it ran, the cart she had pushed across the metals, and thus saved from a train—she accomplished this action now. in her iron grip she held back those five horses, rearing and neighing with the instinct of peril.
barely ten seconds passed, but they were seconds of inconceivable terror. the two colossal stones seemed to bar the view. the locomotive came gliding along with its pale brass and glittering steel, arriving at its smooth, fulminating pace in the golden beams of the beautiful morning. the inevitable was there, nothing in the world could now prevent the smash. and the interval seemed interminable.
misard, who had bounded back to his box, yelled with his arms in the air, shaking his fists in the senseless determination to warn the driver and stop the train. cabuche, who had quitted the house at the sound of the wheels and the neighing of the horses, rushed forward, also yelling, to make the animals go on. but flore, who had flung herself on one side, restrained him, which saved his life. he fancied that she had not been strong enough to master the horses, that it was they who had dragged her along. and he taxed himself with carelessness, sobbing in a splutter of despairing terror; while she, motionless, standing at her full height, her eyes like live coal and wide open, looked on. at the same moment, as the front of the engine was about[pg 316] to touch the blocks of stone, when there remained perhaps only three feet to run, during this inappreciable time, she distinctly saw jacques, with his hand on the reversing-wheel. he had turned towards her, and their eyes met in a gaze that she found inordinately long.
on that particular morning jacques had smiled at séverine, when she came down on to the platform at havre for the express. what was the use of spoiling his life with nightmares? why not take advantage of the happy days when they came? all would perhaps come right in the end. and, resolved to enjoy himself on this day, at all events, he was making plans in his head, dreaming of taking her to lunch at a restaurant. and so, as she cast him a sorrowful glance, because there was not a first-class carriage at the head of the train, and she was forced to find a seat a long way off him at the end, he wished to console her by smiling merrily. they would arrive together, and make up for being separated. indeed, after leaning over the rail to see her enter a compartment right at the extremity of the train, he had pushed his good humour so far as to joke with the headguard, henri dauvergne, whom he knew to be in love with her.
the preceding week he fancied he had noticed that the guard was becoming bold, and that she encouraged him, by way of diversion, requiring relief from the atrocious existence she had formed for herself. and jacques inquired of henri who it was he had been sending kisses to in the air on the previous evening, when hiding behind one of the elms in the entrance yard. this elicited a loud laugh from pecqueux, engaged in making up the fire of la lison, which was smoking, and all ready to set out.
the express ran from havre to barentin at its regular speed and without incident. it was henri who first signalled the dray across the line, from his look-out at the top of his box, on issuing from the cutting. the van next to the tender was crammed with luggage, for the train carried a large[pg 317] number of passengers, who had landed from a mail-boat the previous evening. the headguard, very badly off for space, in the midst of this huge pile of trunks and portmanteaux, swaying to and fro in the vibration, had been standing at his desk classing way-bills; and the small bottle of ink, suspended from a nail, never ceased swinging from side to side.
after passing the stations where he put out luggage, he had four or five minutes' writing to do. two travellers had got down at barentin, and he had just got his papers in order, when, ascending and seating himself in his look-out, he cast a glance back and front along the line in accordance with his custom. it was his habit to pass all his spare time seated in this glazed sentry-box on the watch. the tender hid the driver, but thanks to his elevated position, he could often see further and sooner than the latter. and so, whilst the train was still bending round in the cutting, he perceived the obstacle ahead. his astonishment was such that, in his terror, he lost command of his limbs, and, for an instant, even doubted what he saw. a few seconds were in consequence lost. the train was already out of the cutting, and a loud cry arose from the engine, when he made up his mind to pull the cord of the alarm-bell dangling in front of him.
jacques, at this supreme moment, with his hand on the reversing-wheel, was looking without seeing, in a minute of absent-mindedness. he was thinking of confused and distant matters, from which the image of séverine, even, had faded. the violent swinging and riot of the bell, the yells of pecqueux behind him, brought him back to reality.
pecqueux, who had raised the rod of the ash-pan, being dissatisfied with the draught, had caught sight of the scene on ahead as he leant over the rail to make sure of the speed. and jacques, pale as death, saw and understood everything: the stone dray across the line, the engine tearing along, the frightful shock; and he witnessed it all with such penetrating distinctness, that he could even distinguish the[pg 318] grain in the two stones, while he already felt the concussion of the smash in his bones. he had violently turned round the reversing-wheel, closed the regulator, tightened the brake. he had reversed the engine, and was hanging unconsciously with one hand to the whistle handle, in the furious, but impotent determination to give warning, to have the colossal barricade in front removed.
but in the middle of this terrible scream of distress that rent the air, la lison refused to obey. it continued its course in spite of all, barely slackening in speed. since it had lost its power of starting off smoothly and its excellent vaporisation, in the snowstorm, it was no longer the docile engine of former days. it had now become whimsical and intractable, like an old woman with her chest ruined by a chill. it panted, resisted the brake, and still went on and on, in the ponderous obstinacy of its huge mass. pecqueux, maddened with fright, sprang off. jacques waited, inflexible, at his post, with the fingers of his right hand clutching the reversing-wheel, and those of his left resting on the whistle handle, unaware of what he was doing. and la lison, smoking, puffing, amidst this piercing screech that never ceased, dashed against the stone dray with the enormous weight of the thirteen carriages it dragged behind it.
then, eighty feet distant, beside the line, where they stood riveted in terror, misard and cabuche with their arms in the air, flore with her eyes starting from her head, witnessed this frightful scene: the front part of the train rising up almost perpendicularly, seven carriages ascending one on the top of the other, to fall back with an abominable crash in a confused downfall of wreckage. the first three carriages were reduced to atoms, the four others formed a mountain, an entanglement of staved-in roofs, broken wheels, doors, chains, buffers, interspersed with pieces of glass. and what had been heard particularly, was the pounding of the machine against the stones—a heavy crash terminating in a cry of[pg 319] agony. la lison, ripped open, toppled over to the left, on the other side of the stone dray; while the stones, split asunder, flew about in splinters as in the explosion of a mine, and four out of the five horses, bowled over and dragged along the ground, were killed on the spot. the back half of the train, comprising six carriages, remained intact. they had come to a standstill without even leaving the metals.
cries arose from the wreckage, appeals in words that were drowned by inarticulate howls, like those of wild beasts.
"help! help! oh! my god! i am dying! help! help!"
in the midst of the riot and confusion of the smash, nothing could be heard or seen distinctly. la lison, thrown over on the side, the under part rent open, was losing steam in rumbling puffs, similar to a furious rattle in the throat of a giant, at places where taps had been torn away, and where pipes had burst. an inexhaustible white cloud of vapour rolled round and round just on a level with the ground; while the embers, red as blood, fallen from the fire-box, added their black smoke. the chimney, in the violence of the shock, had entered the ground. at the place where it had stood, the frame was broken, bending the two frame-plates; and with the wheels in the air, similar to a monstrous steed, torn open by some formidable rip of a horn, la lison displayed its twisted connecting-rods, its broken cylinders, its slide valves and their eccentrics flattened out—one huge, frightful wound, gaping in the open air, whence vitality continued issuing with the fracas of enraged despair. beside the locomotive lay the horse, which had not been killed at once, with his two fore hoofs cut off and his belly ripped up. by his erect head, the neck stiffened in a spasm of atrocious pain, he could be perceived rattling the death agony with a terrible neigh, which failed to reach the ear in the thunder of the agonising engine.
the cries were stifled, unheard, lost, wafted away.
[pg 320]
"save me! kill me! i am suffering too atrociously. kill me! kill me at once!"
in this deafening tumult, and blinding smoke, the doors of the carriages remaining intact opened, and a swarm of bewildered travellers sprang out. falling down on the line, they struggled with feet and fists to rise again. then as soon as they found themselves on firm ground, with the open country before them, they fled as fast as they could run, clearing the hedge, cutting across country, ceding to the sole instinct of getting far away from the danger, very, very far. howling women and men disappeared in the depths of the woods.
séverine, trampled under foot, with her hair about her back and her gown in shreds, at last got free; but she did not flee. running towards the roaring engine, she found herself face to face with pecqueux.
"jacques! jacques! he is safe, is he not?" she inquired.
the fireman, who, by a miracle, had not even sprained a joint, was hurrying in the same direction, his heart swelling with pity at the idea of his driver being beneath that heap of wreckage. they had journeyed, they had suffered so much together in the continual fatigue of the high winds! and their engine, their poor engine, the good friend so cherished by both, which lay there on its back, losing its last breath of steam!
"i jumped off," he stammered, "and know nothing, nothing at all. come on, come on, quick!"
beside the line they ran up against flore, who had been watching them advancing towards her. stupefied at the act she had committed, at the massacre she had accomplished, she had not yet moved. it was all over, and it was well. her only feeling was one of relief at having performed a necessity, without the least thought of pity for the pain of the other victims, whom she did not even notice. but when she recognised séverine, her eyes opened immeasurably[pg 321] wide, and a cloud of frightful suffering darkened her pale countenance. eh? what? this woman lived, when he was certainly dead! this piercing grief at her assassinated love, at this stab which she had given herself right in the heart, abruptly revealed to her all the abomination of her crime. she had done this, she had killed him, she had killed all these people! a loud cry lacerated her throat, she twisted her arms, she ran madly forward, exclaiming:
"jacques, oh! jacques! he is there. he was thrown backward, i saw him. jacques, jacques!" she called.
the death rattle of la lison had become subdued. it had taken the form of a hoarse moan which grew weaker and weaker, and the increasing clamour of the wounded could now be heard in tones more and more heartrending. the smoke remained thick. the enormous heap of wreckage, whence issued the voices of the tortured and terrified beings, seemed enveloped in a black cloud of dust that remained motionless in the sun. what could be done? where commence? how could these wretched victims be reached?
"jacques!" flore continued calling. "i tell you he looked at me," she added, "and that he was thrown off there, under the tender. come along quickly! help me!"
cabuche and misard had just picked up henri, the headguard, who at the last second had also leapt from the train. he had dislocated his ankle, and they seated him on the ground against the hedge, where, half-stunned and mute, he watched the rescue of the passengers without appearing to suffer.
"cabuche, come and help me!" cried flore; "i tell you, jacques is under there!"
the quarryman did not hear her. he ran to the assistance of the other wounded, and carried away a young woman whose legs were dangling down broken.
it was séverine who rushed forward to answer the appeal of flore.
[pg 322]
"jacques, jacques?" said she inquiringly. "where is he? i will help you."
"that's it, help me, you!"
their hands met. together they tugged at a broken wheel. but the delicate fingers of séverine could do nothing, while the other with her sturdy fists broke through the obstacles.
"be careful!" said pecqueux, who also began to assist in the work.
and he sharply stopped séverine just as she was going to tread on an arm cut off at the shoulder, which was still clothed in a blue cloth sleeve. she started back in horror. and yet she did not recognise the sleeve. it was an unknown arm that had rolled there from a body they would doubtless find elsewhere. this gave her such a fit of trembling that she seemed as if paralysed, standing weeping, watching the others working, incapable even of removing the splinters of glass which cut her hands.
then the rescue of the dying, the search for the dead proved full of anguish and danger, for the live coal had set the pieces of wood alight, and to put a stop to this commencement of a fire it became necessary to throw shovels of earth over them. while someone ran to barentin to ask for assistance, and a telegram left for rouen, the removal of the wreckage proceeded as briskly as possible, everyone putting a hand to the work with great courage. many of the runaways had returned, ashamed of their panic. but the relief party had to advance with infinite precautions, the transfer of each bit of wreckage requiring the utmost care, for fears were entertained lest the heap might perchance collapse and finish off the poor wretches in its midst. some of the wounded emerged from the pile, still buried up to their chests, crushed as if in a vice, and howling. the rescuers laboured a quarter of an hour to deliver one victim as white as a sheet, who, far from complaining, said he felt no pain, and had nothing the matter with him; but when he had been[pg 323] extricated, he was found to be without his legs, and expired immediately, having neither seen nor felt the horrible mutilation in his fit of fright.
an entire family were dragged from a second-class compartment that had caught fire: the father and mother wounded in the knees, the grandmother with a broken arm; but neither did they feel their injuries. they were sobbing and calling their little girl who had disappeared in the smash—a fair-headed mite, barely three years old, who was discovered safe and sound under a strip of roofing with a merry, smiling face. another little girl drenched in blood and with her poor, tiny hands crushed, had been carried aside pending the discovery of her parents. she remained alone and unknown, breathing with such difficulty that she could not utter a word; but her face was convulsed into an expression of ineffable terror as soon as anyone approached her.
the shock having twisted the iron-fittings of the carriage doors, it was found impossible to open them, and it became necessary to enter the compartments through the broken glass. four corpses had already been taken out and placed side by side along the line. about ten wounded extended on the ground, were waiting near the dead bodies, there being no doctor to dress their wounds, and no assistance of any kind. the clearance of the wreckage had barely commenced, and a new victim was found under each bit of lumber, while the heap, streaming and palpitating with this human butchery, never seemed to decrease.
"but i tell you that jacques is under there!" cried flore, relieving herself by obstinately repeating this expression, which she uttered without reason, as the lamentation of her despair. "he is calling. there, there! listen!" she added.
the tender lay buried beneath the carriages, which after running one atop of the other, had then tumbled over; and, in fact, since the locomotive had been making less noise, a heavy masculine voice could be distinguished roaring in the[pg 324] midst of the pile. as the work advanced the clamour of these agonising tones became more subdued, but they revealed such atrocious pain that the rescue party, unable to bear them any longer, gave way and called out themselves. then, at last, when the excavators reached the victim whose legs they had liberated, and whom they were dragging towards them, the roar of suffering ceased. the man was dead!
"no," said flore, "it is not jacques. he is lower down. he is underneath."
and with her arms of a warrior woman, she raised the wheels and cast them to a distance, she twirled the zinc of the roofs, broke the doors, tore away the bits of chain. and as soon as she came to a corpse or a person who was wounded, she called for someone to remove the body, determined not to slacken for a second in her maddening search.
cabuche, pecqueux, and misard worked behind her, while séverine, enfeebled by standing so long on her feet, had just seated herself on the bench of a shattered carriage. but misard, gentle and indifferent, again overcome by his sluggishness, anxious to avoid too much fatigue, was always ready to carry away the bodies. and both he and flore looked at the corpses, as if they hoped to recognise them from among the multitude of thousands and thousands of faces who, in ten years, had filed past before their eyes at full steam, leaving only the confused recollection of a crowd conveyed there and borne away in a flash.
no; it was still that unknown wave of the advancing world, as anonymous in brutal, accidental death, as in that hasty life which brought it tearing past them onward to the future; and they could not name, they could give no information about the heads, furrowed with horror, of these poor creatures struck down on their road, trampled under foot, similar to those soldiers whose bodies fill the trenches in opposing the charge of an enemy ascending to the assault. nevertheless, flore fancied she had found one person to[pg 325] whom she had spoken on the day the train was blocked in the snow: that american whose profile she had at last come to know familiarly, without being aware of his name, or anything about him or his. misard carried him along with the other dead bodies, come no one knew whence, bound for no one knew where, and stopped there.
then came a heartrending scene: in a first-class compartment turned topsy-turvy they had just discovered a young couple, doubtless newly married, thrown one upon the other in such an unfortunate position that the woman, who was uppermost, crushed the man, and could not make a movement to relieve him. he was choking, he already had the death rattle in his throat; while she, in terror, with her mouth free, her heart rent asunder at the thought that she was killing him, distractedly implored the relief party to make haste. and when they had delivered both, it was she who all at once breathed her last, a blow from one of the buffers having ripped open her side. and the man, coming to himself again, clamoured with grief, kneeling beside the dead body whose eyes remained full of tears.
a dozen corpses and about thirty wounded passengers had now been removed. the workers were setting the tender free. flore paused, ever and anon, thrusting her head among the splintered wood, the twisted iron, searching ardently with her eyes to see if she could perceive the driver. suddenly she uttered a loud cry.
"i can see him!" she exclaimed. "he is under here. look! there is his arm, with his blue woollen jacket. he doesn't move; he doesn't breathe!"
and, rising from her recumbent position, she swore like a man.
"be quick!" she shouted with an oath. "get him out from there!"
she made a fruitless effort with both hands to tear away a plank belonging to one of the carriages, which other pieces[pg 326] of wreckage prevented coming towards her. so, running off, she returned with the hatchet that served to chop the wood at home; and brandishing it as a woodcutter wields his axe in the middle of an oak-tree forest, she fell upon the plank with a volley of furious blows. the men, standing aside, allowed her to do as she would, while shouting to her to be careful. but jacques was the only wounded person there, and he lay sheltered under an entanglement of axle-trees and wheels. moreover, she paid no attention to what was said. her spirit being fairly roused, certain of herself, she proceeded with irresistible determination. each stroke battered down the wood, cut through an obstacle. with her fair hair streaming free, her bodice torn open displaying her bare arms, she resembled some terrible reaper cleaving a way through the destruction she had wrought. the final blow falling upon an axletree, broke the iron of the hatchet in two. then, assisted by the others, she put aside the wheels which had protected the young man from being crushed to death, and she was the first to seize him and bear him away in her arms.
"jacques, jacques!" she cried. "he is alive; he is breathing. ah! great god! he lives. i knew i saw him fall, and that he was there!"
séverine, who was distracted, followed her. between them they laid him down at the foot of the hedge beside henri, who continued gazing, stupefied, as if not understanding where he was, nor what went on around him. pecqueux, who had approached, remained standing before his driver quite unhinged at seeing him in this deplorable state; while the two women, now kneeling down, one to the right the other to the left, supported the head of the poor fellow, watching in anguish for the slightest shiver on his face.
at length jacques opened his lids. his troubled look fell upon flore and séverine, one after the other, but he did not appear to recognise them. they failed to arouse[pg 327] his interest. but his eyes having encountered the expiring locomotive, a few feet away, first of all assumed a wild expression, then, settling on the object, vacillated with increasing emotion.
he recognised la lison well, and the sight brought everything back to him: the two blocks of stone across the rails, the abominable shock, the crushing sensation he had experienced, at the same moment, within both the engine and himself, and from which he had emerged alive, while the locomotive had assuredly come to an end. it was not the fault of the engine if it had been intractable; for it had always felt the effects of the accident in the snow; without counting, that age makes limbs heavy and joints stiff, which is as applicable to machinery as to living creatures. and so, overwhelmed with grief at seeing la lison direfully wounded, in the last throes of death, he readily forgave.
poor la lison had but a few minutes more. it was becoming cold. the live coal in the fire-box was turning into cinders, the steam that had escaped in such violence from its open flanks, was exhausting itself with the low moan of a weeping child. the locomotive always so bright, now lay on its back in a black bed of coal, soiled with earth and foam. it had met with the tragic end of a costly animal struck down in the public street. at one moment, it had been possible to perceive its mechanism at work through its shattered plates: the pistons beating like twin-hearts, the steam circulating in the slide valves as the blood of its veins; but the connecting-rods merely moved in a jerky fashion, after the manner of convulsive human arms, and constituted the final efforts of life.
its spirit was ebbing away along with the power that gave it life, that huge breath whereof it could not absolutely free itself. the eviscerated giantess sank lower still, passing little by little into very gentle slumber, and ended by emitting not a sound. la lison was dead. and the heap of iron,[pg 328] steel, and copper, lying there, this pounded colossal mass with the barrel ripped asunder, the scattered limbs, the interior mechanism smashed, exposed to broad daylight, displayed the frightfully mournful aspect of some enormous human corpse, of a whole world that had lived, and from which life had just been torn in anguish.
then jacques, understanding that la lison was no more, closed his eyes, desiring to die also; moreover, he was so weak that he fancied himself borne away in the final little puff of the engine; and tears, trickling from his closed lids, drenched his cheeks. this was too much for pecqueux who had remained there motionless with a lump in his throat. their dear friend had gone, and here was his driver wishing to follow. so the happy family of three was at an end. all over those journeys of hundreds of leagues they made together without exchanging a word, and yet all three understanding one another so well, that they had no need to make even a sign to comprehend. ah! poor la lison, as gentle as strong, so beautiful when sparkling in the sun! and pecqueux, who, nevertheless, had not been drinking, burst into violent sobs, unable to master the hiccoughs that agitated his huge frame.
séverine and flore were also in despair at this fresh fainting fit of jacques. the latter of the two women running home, returned with camphorated spirit, and began to friction him for the sake of doing something. but amidst their anguish they were exasperated by the interminable death agony of the horse, who had his two fore-hoofs cut off, the only survivor of the team of five. he lay close to them, uttering a constant neigh, a cry that sounded almost human. it was so shrill and so expressive of frightful pain, that two of the wounded gained by the contagion, also began howling like animals.
never had a death-cry rent the air in such a deep, ever memorable complaint. it made the blood run icy cold. the torture became atrocious. voices, trembling with pity and[pg 329] anger, inveighed against it, beseeching the rescue party to put an end to the misery of this wretched horse, who was in such terrible suffering, and whose endless death rattle, now that the engine had expired, continued like the final lamentation of the catastrophe. then pecqueux, still sobbing, picked up the hatchet with the shattered steel head, and at a single blow, right in front of the skull, pole-axed him. silence now fell on the scene of massacre.
assistance came at last, after waiting a couple of hours. in the shock of the collision the carriages had all been thrown to the left, so that the down-line could be cleared in a few hours. a train from rouen, consisting of three carriages and a pilot-engine, had just brought the chief-secretary to the prefect and the imperial procurator, along with some engineers and doctors of the company—quite a swarm of active, busy personages; while m. bessière, the station-master at barentin, was already attacking the wreckage with a gang of workmen.
extraordinary bustle and excitement prevailed in this out-of-the-way place, usually so silent and deserted. the travellers, who had issued from the accident safe and sound, had not yet lost the frenzy of their panic, which asserted itself in a febrile necessity to keep on the move. some, terrified at the idea of again seating themselves in a railway carriage, endeavoured to hire vehicles; others, seeing it was impossible to find even a wheel-barrow, already became anxious about eating and sleeping. everybody wished to send off telegrams, and several people set out for barentin on foot taking messages with them.
while the representatives of the government, assisted by the servants of the railway company, commenced an inquiry, the doctors hastily proceeded to dress the wounds of the injured. many had lost consciousness and lay in pools of blood. others, tortured by tweezers and needles, murmured in feeble voices. altogether there were fifteen passengers[pg 330] killed and thirty-two seriously hurt. the corpses remained in a row on the ground at the foot of the hedge, with their faces to the sky pending identification.
no one, save a little substitute, a fair and rosy young man full of zeal, troubled about them. and he searched their pockets to see if he could find any papers, visiting-cards, or letters, which would enable him to ticket each of them with a name and address. meanwhile, a gaping crowd had gathered about him; for, although there was no house within a league around, a number of idlers had arrived, no one could say whence—some thirty men, women, and children, who simply stood in the way without lending any assistance. and the black dust, the veil of smoke and vapour that had enveloped everything, having dispersed, the radiant april morning burst triumphant upon the scene of massacre, bathing the dead and dying, the ripped-up la lison, and the pile of wreckage, in gentle, gay streams of bright sun; while the gang of workmen engaged in clearing the line reminded one of ants repairing the damage done to their hill by the feet of a thoughtless passer-by.
jacques continued unconscious, and séverine, stopping a doctor as he came along, besought his assistance. the latter examined the young man without discovering any visible wound, but fearing internal lesions on account of the thin streaks of blood that appeared between his lips, he declined to express a formal opinion, but advised that jacques should be removed as speedily, and with as little jolting as possible, and put to bed.
jacques, at the touch of hands passing over him, had again opened his eyes with a suppressed ejaculation of pain. this time he recognised séverine, and stammered in a wandering manner:
"take me away—take me away!"
flore bent forward, and jacques moving his head recognised her also. his eyes at once took the terrified expression of[pg 331] a child, and he turned back towards séverine, shrinking from the other with a look of hatred and horror.
"take me away, immediately, immediately!" said he.
then séverine, troubling no more about flore than if she had not been present, inquired in a most affectionate tone:
"will you let me take you to la croix-de-maufras? it is just opposite; and if you consent we shall be at home there."
and still agitated, with his eyes fixed on the other, he acquiesced.
"anywhere you please, immediately," said he.
flore, who remained motionless, turned pale as death at his look of terrified execration. and so, in this carnage of innocent people, she had not succeeded in killing them, neither the one nor the other: the woman had come out of it without a scratch; and now he would perhaps escape. she had only succeeded in throwing them together all alone in this solitary house. she saw them comfortable there, the sweetheart recovered, convalescent; the girl full of attention, recompensed for her vigils by continual caresses, both prolonging the honeymoon of the catastrophe in absolute liberty and far from the world. she turned icy cold, and cast her eyes on the dead she had slaughtered to no purpose.
at this moment, flore, in the glance she had given to the butchery, perceived misard and cabuche, who were being questioned by some gentlemen—the judicial authorities assuredly. in fact, the imperial procurator and the chief secretary to the prefect were endeavouring to ascertain how this stone dray had got across the line. misard maintained that he had not left his post, while at the same time, he was unable to give any precise information as to what had happened. he really knew nothing, so he pretended he had been busy with his apparatus, and had his back turned.
cabuche, who had not yet recovered his composure, related a long, confused story about how he had committed the[pg 332] imprudence of leaving his team, in order to take a look at the corpse of the dead woman, how the horses had moved on alone, and how the young girl had been unable to stop them. embroiling himself, he began again without succeeding in making himself understood.
a mad desire for liberty, again caused the frozen blood of flore to flow warm. she wished for freedom of action, freedom to reflect and come to a decision of her own accord, having never required the assistance of anyone to get into the right path. what was the good of waiting to be annoyed with questions, perhaps to be arrested? for, apart from the crime, there had been neglect of duty, and she would be held responsible. nevertheless, she remained where she was, feeling unable to quit the spot so long as jacques stayed there.
séverine had so begged and prayed of pecqueux to procure a stretcher, that he at last secured one, and returned from his errand with a comrade, to carry off the injured driver. the doctor had persuaded the young woman to allow henri, the headguard, to be accommodated at her house also. he merely seemed to be suffering from swimming in the head, as if momentarily struck senseless by the shock. he would be removed after the other one.
as séverine bent forward to unbutton the collar of jacques which was troubling him, she kissed him openly on the eyes, wishing to give him courage to support being moved.
"never mind," she murmured; "we shall be happy."
he returned her kiss smiling. and to flore this was the supreme rent that tore him from her for ever. it seemed to her that her blood, also, was now flowing from an incurable wound. she fled when they carried him away; but, in passing before the low habitation, she perceived the death-chamber through the window, with the pale spot formed by the candle burning in broad daylight, beside the body of her mother. during the accident the corpse of the dead woman had remained alone, with the head half turned aside,[pg 333] the eyes wide open, the mouth twisted, as if she were watching all these people whom she did not know, being crushed to death.
flore dashed away, and immediately turning the corner formed by the doinville road, struck out to the left among the bushes. she was familiar with every innermost corner of the district, and she could now defy the gendarmes to catch her should they happen to be in pursuit. so she abruptly ceased running, continuing at a slow walk towards a hiding-place—an excavation above the tunnel, where she loved to conceal herself on days when she felt sad. raising her eyes, she saw by the sun that it was noon. when she was in her den, she stretched herself on the hard rock, and remained motionless with her hands clasped behind her neck reflecting. it was not until then that she felt a frightful void within her. a sensation of being dead gradually numbed her limbs. this was not remorse at having uselessly slaughtered all these people, for it required an effort on her part to experience regret and horror at what she had done.
no, but she was now certain that jacques had seen her holding back the horses; and she had just understood, as she noticed him shrink away, that he felt the same terrified repulsion for her as one has for monsters. he would never forget. however, when you miss doing away with other people, you must not commit the same blunder with yourself. by-and-by, she would put an end to her existence. she had no other hope. she felt the absolute necessity of resorting to this extremity, since she had been there, recovering calm and reasoning. her fatigue and complete prostration alone prevented her rising to seek a weapon, and die there and then.
and yet, from the midst of the invincible somnolence that settled on her, again came the love of life, a craving for felicity, a final dream of being happy also, considering she had left the other two to the bliss of living freely together.[pg 334] why not await night, to run off and join ozil, who adored her and would very well know how to defend her? then her thoughts became gentle and confused, and she fell into a sound sleep, free from dreams.
when flore awoke, night had completely set in. not knowing where she was, she felt about her, and at once remembered everything, on touching the naked rock whereon she lay. then the implacable necessity presented itself like a thunderbolt: she must die. it seemed as if that cowardly sensation of gentleness, that faltering when life seemed still possible, had vanished with the fatigue. no, no; death alone was good. she could not live in the midst of all this blood, with her tattered heart, and execrated by the only man she cared for, who belonged to another. now that she had the strength, she must die.
flore rose, and left the hole in the rocks. she did not hesitate, for instinct had just told her where she should go. looking towards the stars, she could see it was close on nine o'clock. as she reached the railway, a train flew by at full speed, on the down-line, which seemed to give her pleasure: all would be well. evidently they had cleared this line, whereas the other, no doubt, was still blocked, for the trains did not seem to be running. now she followed the hedge amidst the deadly silence of the wild surroundings. there was no hurry, there would be no train before the paris express, and that would not be there until 9.25. she continued her walk in the dense darkness very calmly, and at short strides, as if she had been making one of her usual excursions by the deserted pathways of the neighbourhood.
nevertheless, before coming to the tunnel, she made her way through the hedge, and advanced along the metals themselves, at her dawdling gait, walking to meet the express. she had to keep her wits about her, so as not to be seen by the watchman, as was her custom each time she ran over on a visit to ozil. and, in the tunnel, she continued[pg 335] walking, still, still advancing. but it was not as on the last occasion. she was no longer afraid, should she turn round, of losing the exact notion of the direction she wished to take. the tunnel folly was not beating in her skull, obliterating all idea of time and space, amidst the thunder of the sounds crashing beneath the vault. what mattered it to her? she did not reason, she did not even think, she had but one fixed resolution: to walk, walk before her until she met the train, and then to still walk on, straight to the lantern, as soon as she should see it flaming in the night.
nevertheless, flore felt astonished, for she fancied she had been going along thus for hours. what a distance it was, this death that she desired! the idea that she would not encounter it, that she would walk leagues and leagues without striking against it, caused her momentary despair. her feet were becoming weary. would she then be obliged to sit down, and wait for death? to lie across the rails? but this struck her as unworthy. with the instinct of a virgin and warrior woman, she wished to walk on to the end, to die erect. and this thought aroused her energy. she gave another spurt forward, and, in the far distance, perceived the light of the express, looking like a little star, twinkling and alone, in the midst of an inky sky.
the train was not yet beneath the vault. no sound announced its coming. nothing was visible but this very bright, gay light, increasing little by little in volume. drawn up to her full, tall height, in all the suppleness of her build, evenly balanced on her strong lower limbs, she now advanced at a long stride, but without running, as if going to meet a friend to whom she wished to spare a part of the distance separating them. but the train had just entered the tunnel, the frightful roar approached, shaking the ground with a tempestuous blast; while the star had become an enormous eye, ever expanding, bursting out as if from its orbit of gloom.
[pg 336]
then, under the empire of an inexplicable sentiment, perhaps to die quite alone, she emptied her pockets without pausing in her heroic, obstinate march, and placed quite a little pile of articles beside the line: a pocket-handkerchief, some keys, some string, a couple of knives; she even removed the fichu tied round her neck, leaving her bodice unhooked and torn half open.
the eye changed into a brazier, into the mouth of an oven vomiting fire. the breath of the monster already reached her, damp and warm, in the roll of thunder that became more and more deafening. and she continued to walk on, going straight towards the furnace so as not to miss the engine, fascinated like some night insect attracted by a flame. and in the frightful shock, in the embrace, she still drew herself up, as if stirred by the final revolt of a wrestler woman, she sought to clasp the giant, and lay him low. her head went full into the lantern which was extinguished.
it was more than an hour afterwards that a party came to pick up the corpse of flore. the driver had distinctly seen the tall, pale-faced figure of this girl advancing towards the engine, with all the strange aspect of a terrifying apparition, in the deluge of vivid light that streamed upon her; and, when the lantern abruptly went out, and the train rolled along with its peal of thunder in dense obscurity, he shuddered as he felt death pass by. on issuing from the tunnel he did his best to inform the watchman of the accident, by shouting to him. but only at barentin could he relate that somebody had just been cut in two down the line. it was certainly a woman for female hair, mingled with bits of skull, still remained sticking to the broken glass of the lamp.
and when the men sent to look for the body discovered it, they started to find it so white—as white as marble. it was lying on the up-line, thrown there by the violence of the shock: the head all pulp, the limbs without a scratch, and half bare, displaying admirable beauty in their purity and[pg 337] strength. the men wrapped up the corpse in silence. they had recognised it. she had certainly done away with herself in a fit of craziness, to escape the terrible responsibility weighing on her.
at midnight the corpse of flore rested in the little, low habitation beside that of her mother. a mattress had been spread on the ground, and a candle lighted between the two bodies. the great fixed eyes of aunt phasie, whose head remained inclined on her shoulder, and whose twisted mouth still bore its hideous grin, seemed now to be gazing at her daughter; while all around in the solitude, amid the profound silence could be heard the grim labour—the panting efforts of misard, who had resumed his search.
and at the prescribed intervals, the trains flew by, crossing one another on the two lines, the traffic having just been completely restored. they passed inexorably and indifferently with their all-powerful mechanism, ignorant of these dramas and these crimes. what mattered the unknown of the multitude fallen on the road, crushed beneath the wheels? the dead had been removed, the blood washed away, and the trains started off again for yonder, towards the future.