the scene shifted to the bedroom at la croix-de-maufras, the room hung in red damask, with the two high windows looking on the railway line a few yards away. from the bedstead—an old four-poster facing the windows—the trains could be seen passing. and not an object had been removed, not a piece of furniture disturbed for years.
séverine had the wounded jacques, who was unconscious, carried up to this apartment; while henri dauvergne was left in a smaller bedroom on the ground floor. for herself, she kept a room close to the one occupied by jacques, and only separated from it by the landing. a couple of hours sufficed to make everything sufficiently comfortable, for the house had remained fully set up, and even linen was stowed away in the cupboards. séverine, with an apron over her gown, found herself transformed into a lady nurse. she had simply telegraphed to roubaud not to expect her, as she would no doubt remain at the house a short time, attending to the wounded she had put up there.
on the following day, the doctor announced that he thought he could answer for jacques, indeed he hoped to put him on his feet again in a week; his case proved a perfect miracle, for he had barely received some slight internal injury. but the doctor insisted on the greatest care being taken of him, and on absolute rest. so when the invalid opened his eyes séverine, who watched over him as over a child, begged him to be good and to obey her in everything. still very weak, he promised with a nod.
[pg 339]
he was in possession of all his faculties. he recognised the room which she had described on the night of her confession. he was lying on the bed. there were the windows through which, without even raising his head, he could see the trains flash past, suddenly shaking the whole house. and he felt by the surroundings, that this house was just as he had so often seen it, when he went by on his engine. he saw it again now in his mind, set down aslant beside the line, in its distress and abandonment, with its closed shutters. the aspect had become more lamentable and dubious, since it had been for sale, with the immense board adding to the melancholy appearance of the garden overgrown with briars. he recalled the frightful sadness he had felt each time he passed the place, the uneasiness with which it haunted him as if it stood at this spot to be the calamity of his existence. and now, as he lay so weak in this room, he seemed to understand it all, there could be no other solution to the matter—he was assuredly going to die there.
as soon as séverine perceived he was in a condition to understand her, she hastened to set his mind at ease in regard to a subject which she fancied might be worrying him, whispering in his ear as she drew up the bedclothes:
"you need not be anxious. i emptied your pockets, and took the watch."
he gazed at her with wide open eyes, making an effort to remember.
"the watch! ah! yes! the watch," he murmured.
"they might have searched you," she resumed. "and i have hidden it among my own things. don't be afraid."
he thanked her with a pressure of the hand. turning his head, he caught sight of the knife lying on the table. this had also been found in one of his pockets, but there was no need to conceal it, for it was just like many another knife.
the following day, jacques already found himself stronger,[pg 340] and began to hope he would not die there. he experienced real pleasure when he noticed the presence of cabuche, who did all he could to make himself useful, and was at great pains to avoid making a noise on the floor with his heavy, giant-like tread. the quarryman had not quitted séverine since the accident, and it seemed as if he also was under the influence of an ardent desire to show his devotedness. he abandoned his own occupation, and came every morning to assist in the housework, serving her with canine-like fidelity, and with eyes ever fixed on her own. as he remarked: she was a splendid woman, in spite of her slim appearance. one might well do something for her, considering she did so much for others. and the two sweethearts became so accustomed to him that they did not trouble if he happened to surprise them talking affectionately to one another, or even kissing, when he chanced to pass discreetly through the apartment, making as little as he could of his burly frame.
what astonished jacques was the frequent absence of séverine from the room. on the first day, in obedience to the orders of the doctor, she had said nothing about henri being below, feeling that the idea of absolute solitude would act as a sort of soothing draught on her patient.
"we are alone here, are we not?" he inquired.
"yes, my darling, alone, all alone," she answered. "you can sleep in peace."
but she disappeared at every moment, and the next day he overheard footsteps and whispering on the ground floor. then, on the following day, he distinguished a lot of stifled merriment, bursts of clear laughter, two fresh, youthful voices that never ceased.
"what is it? who is there?" he asked. "so we are not alone?"
"well, no, my darling," she replied. "down below, just under your room, is another injured man to whom i have given hospitality."
[pg 341]
"ah!" he exclaimed. "who is it?"
"henri, you know, the headguard!" said she.
"henri! ah!" he exclaimed again.
"and this morning," she continued, "his two sisters arrived. it is they that you hear; they laugh at everything. as he is much better they are going back again to-night, on account of their father who cannot do without them; and henri is to remain two or three days longer to get quite well. just fancy, he leapt from the train without breaking a single bone; only he was like an idiot; but his reason has returned."
jacques made no remark, but he fixed such a penetrating look on her, that she added:
"you understand, eh? if he was not there, people might gossip about us two. so long as i am not alone with you, my husband can say nothing and i have a good pretext for remaining here. you understand?"
"yes, yes," he replied; "that is all right."
and jacques, until evening, listened to the laughter of the little dauvergnes, which he recollected having heard in paris, ascending in the same manner from the lower floor into the room where séverine had made her confession to him. with darkness came silence, and he could only distinguish the light footsteps of séverine going from him to the other wounded man. the door below closed, and the house fell into profound silence. feeling thirsty, he had to knock twice on the floor with a chair for her to come up to him. when she arrived, she was all smiles and very assiduous, explaining that she could not get away before because it was necessary to keep a compress of cold water on the head of henri.
on the fourth day, jacques was able to get up, and pass a couple of hours in an armchair before the window. by bending forward a little he could see the strip of garden inclosed by a low wall and invaded by briars with their pale bloom, a slice of which had been taken by the railway. and he remembered the night when he stood on tiptoe to look[pg 342] over the wall. he again saw the rather large piece of ground at the back of the house shut in by a hedge only, the hedge he had gone through to run up against flore seated at the entrance to the dilapidated greenhouse, cutting up stolen cord with scissors. ah! that abominable night full of the terror of his complaint! that flore, with the tall, supple stature of a fair warrior woman, her flaming eyes fixed straight on his, was ever present since the recollection of it all returned to him more and more distinctly.
at first he had not opened his lips respecting the accident, and no one about him alluded to it, out of prudence. but every detail came back to him, and he pieced it all together again. he thought of nothing else, and his mind was so continuously occupied with the subject, that now, at the window, his sole occupation consisted in looking for traces of the collision, in watching for the actors in the catastrophe. how was it that he did not see flore there at her post as gatekeeper with her flag in her fist? he dared not ask the question, and this increased the uneasiness he felt in this lugubrious dwelling, which seemed to him to be peopled with spectres.
nevertheless, one morning, when cabuche was there assisting séverine, he ended by making up his mind.
"and where is flore?" he inquired. "is she ill?"
the quarryman, taken unawares, misunderstood a gesture the young woman made, and, thinking she was telling him to speak out, he answered:
"poor flore is dead."
jacques looked at them shuddering, and it then became necessary to tell him all. together they related to him the suicide of the young girl, how she had been cut in two in the tunnel. the burial of the mother had been delayed until the evening, so that her daughter might be carried away at the same time; and they now slept side by side in the little cemetery at doinville, where they had gone to join the first[pg 343] who had made the journey, the younger sister, that gentle but unfortunate louisette. three miserable creatures among those who fall on the road, who are crushed and disappear, as if swept away by the terrible blast of those passing trains.
"dead! great god!" repeated jacques very lowly. "my poor aunt phasie, and flore, and louisette!"
at the last name, cabuche, who was assisting séverine to push the bed, instinctively raised his eyes to her, troubled at the recollection of his tender feelings for another in presence of the budding passion which he felt had gained him; he, a soft-hearted creature of limited intelligence, was without defence, like an affectionate dog who is conquered by the first caress. but séverine who knew all about his tragic love episode remained grave, looking at him with sympathetic eyes, so that he felt very much touched; and his hand having unintentionally grazed her hand, as he was passing her the pillows, he felt like suffocating, and it was in a stammering voice that he replied to the next question jacques put to him.
"did they accuse her, then, of causing the accident?" asked the latter.
"oh! no, no! only it was her fault, you understand?" answered cabuche.
in disjointed sentences he related all he knew. for his own part, he had seen nothing as he was in the house when the horses moved on to drag the stone dray across the line. this, indeed, was what caused him silent remorse. the judicial gentlemen had harshly reproached him with leaving his team. the frightful misfortune would not have occurred had he remained with them. the inquiry, therefore, resulted in showing that there had been simple negligence on the part of flore; and as she had punished herself atrociously, nothing further was done. the company did not even remove misard, who, with his air of humility and deference, had got out of the scrape by accusing the dead girl: she always did as she liked; he had to leave his box at every minute to close the[pg 344] gate. the company, for their part, were compelled to recognise that on this particular morning he had performed his duty perfectly. and, in the interval that would elapse before he married again, they had just authorised him to take as gatekeeper an old woman of the neighbourhood, named ducloux, formerly a servant at an inn, who lived on money she had economised in her younger days.
when cabuche left the room, jacques detained séverine by a glance. he looked extremely pale.
"you know very well that it was flore who pulled on the horses, and barred the line with the blocks of stone," said he.
séverine in her turn grew pallid.
"darling, what on earth are you saying?" she answered. "you are getting feverish; you must go to bed again."
"no, no, i am not wandering. do you hear? i saw her, as i see you," he continued. "she held the cattle, and with her firm fist, prevented the dray advancing."
on hearing this, séverine, losing her legs, sank down on a chair opposite him.
"good heavens! good heavens!" she exclaimed. "it strikes terror into one. it is monstrous. i shall never be able to get any sleep."
"of course," he resumed, "the thing is clear. she attempted to kill us both in the general slaughter. she had been making me advances for a long time, and she was jealous. coupled with this, she was half off her head, and had all manner of rum ideas. only think such a number of murders at one stroke—quite a multitude plunged in gore! ah! the wretch!"
his eyes grew wide open, a nervous twitch drew down his lip, and he held his tongue. they remained looking at one another for fully a minute without speaking. then, tearing himself from the abominable vision that had risen up between them, he continued in a lower tone:
"ah! she is dead! so that is why her ghost is here![pg 345] since i recovered consciousness she seems to be always present. again this morning, i turned round thinking her at the head of my bed. still she is dead, and we are alive. let us hope she will not avenge herself now!"
séverine shuddered.
"hold your tongue, hold your tongue!" said she. "you will drive me crazy."
she left the room, and he heard her go downstairs to the other invalid.
jacques, who had remained at the window, was again lost in the contemplation of the line, of the small habitation of the gatekeeper, with its great well, of the signal-box, that wooden hut where misard seemed to be dozing over his regular, monotonous work. jacques became absorbed by these things now for hours, as if poring over some problem he could not solve, and the solution of which, nevertheless, concerned his safety.
he never felt tired of watching misard, that puny creature, gentle and pallid, everlastingly disturbed by a nasty little cough, who had poisoned his wife, who had got the better of that strapping woman, like a rodent insect obstinately pursuing its passion. he could certainly not have had any other idea in his head for years, day and night, during the twelve interminable hours he remained on duty. at each electric tinkle, announcing a train, he blew the horn; then, when the train had passed and he had blocked the line, he pressed an electric knob to warn the next signalman of its arrival, afterwards touching a second knob to open the line at the preceding signal-box. these simple mechanical movements had, in the end, entered into his vegetative life, as bodily habits.
untutored and obtuse he never read anything, but between the calls of his apparatus remained with his arms hanging down beside him, and his eyes gazing vaguely into space. being almost always seated in his box, he had no other[pg 346] diversion than that of dawdling as long as possible over his lunch. when this was finished he fell into his doltishness again with a skull quite empty, without a thought; and he was particularly tormented with terrible drowsiness, sometimes sleeping with his eyes open. at night-time, if he wished to avoid giving way to this irresistible torpor, he had to get up and walk with unsteady legs like a drunken man. and it was thus that the struggle with his wife, that secret combat as to who should have the concealed 1,000 frcs. after the death of the other, must for months and months have been the sole reflection in the benumbed brain of this solitary being.
when he blew his horn; when he man?uvred his signals, watching in automatic fashion over the safety of so many lives, he thought of the poison; and when he waited with idle arms, his eyes moving from side to side with sleep, he still thought of it. of nothing did he think but that: he would kill her, he would search, it was he who would have the money.
at present, jacques was astonished to find misard had not changed. it was possible then to kill without any trouble, and life continue as before. after the feverishness, attending the first rummages for the money-bag, he had just resumed his usual indifference, the cunning, gentle manner of a feeble being who shunned a shock. as a matter of fact, he might well have put an end to his wife, but she triumphed notwithstanding; for he was beaten. he had turned the house upside down without discovering anything, not a centime; and his looks alone, those anxious ferreting looks, revealed on his sallow countenance how busy was his mind.
everlastingly he saw the wide open eyes of the dead woman, the hideous smile on her lips which seemed to repeat: "search! search!" he sought. he could not give his brain one minute of rest now. it worked, worked incessantly in quest of the spot where the treasure was buried, thinking over the possible hiding-places, rejecting those where[pg 347] he had already rummaged, bursting into feverish excitement as soon as he imagined a new one; and then, burning with such haste, that he abandoned everything to run off there to no purpose. this, in the end, became an intolerable torment, an avenging torture, a sort of cerebral insomnia which kept him awake, stupid and reflecting in spite of himself, in the tic-tac of the pendulum of his fixed idea.
when he blew his horn, once for the down-trains, twice for the up trains, he sought; when he answered the ringing, when he pressed the knobs of his apparatus, closing, opening the line, he sought. he sought, sought, bewilderingly, ceaselessly. in the daytime, during the long period of waiting, heavy with idleness; at night, tormented with sleep as if exiled to the other end of the world, in the silence of the great black country. and the woman ducloux, who at present looked after the gate, actuated by the desire to become his wife, showed him every possible attention, and was alarmed to see that he never closed his eyes.
one night, jacques, who began to take a few steps in his room, had got up and approaching the window, saw a lantern moving to and fro at the house of misard: assuredly the man was searching. but the following night, the convalescent being again on the look out, was astounded to recognise a great dark form, which proved none other than cabuche, who was standing in the road beneath the window of the adjoining room where séverine slept. and this sight, without him being able to understand why it should be so, instead of irritating him, filled him with commiseration and sadness: another unfortunate fellow, this great brute, planted there like a bewildered faithful animal.
in truth, séverine, who was so slim and not handsome, when examined in detail, must possess a very powerful charm with her raven hair and deep blue eyes for even savages, giants of limited intelligence, to be so smitten with her as to pass the night at her door, like little trembling youths![pg 348] he recalled certain things that he had noticed: the eagerness of the quarryman to assist her, and the look of servility with which he offered his help. yes, cabuche was certainly in love with her. and jacques, having kept his eye on him, the next day noticed him furtively pick up a hair-pin that had fallen from her hair as she made the bed, and keep it in his closed hand so as not to restore it. jacques thought of his own torment, of all he had suffered through his love, of all the trouble and fright returning with health.
two more days passed. the week was coming to an end, and the injured men, as the doctor had foreseen, would be able to resume duty. one morning, the driver being at the window, saw a brand new engine pass with his fireman pecqueux, who greeted him with his hand as if calling him. but he was in no hurry, an awakening of passion detained him there, a sort of anxious expectation as to what would happen next.
that same day, in the lower part of the house, he again heard fresh youthful laughter, a gaiety of grown up girls, filling the sad habitation with all the racket of a ladies' school in the playground. he recognised the voices of the little dauvergnes, but he did not say a word on the subject to séverine who absented herself nearly the entire day, unable to remain with him for five minutes at a time. in the evening, the house having fallen into deathlike silence, and as séverine, looking grave and slightly pale, loitered in his room, he looked at her fixedly, and remarked inquiringly:
"so he has gone? his sisters have taken him away?"
she briefly answered:
"yes."
"and we are at last alone, quite alone?" he continued.
"yes, quite alone," said she. "to-morrow we shall have to quit one another. i shall return to havre. we have been camping long enough in this desert."
[pg 349]
he continued looking at her in a smiling but constrained manner, and at length made up his mind to speak.
"you are sorry he has gone, eh?" he inquired.
and as she started and wished to protest, he interrupted her:
"i am not seeking a quarrel with you," he said. "you know well enough that i am not jealous. one day you told me to kill you if you were unfaithful to me, did you not? i do not look like a man who is going to kill his sweetheart. but really you were always below, it was impossible to have you to myself for a minute. it recalled to my mind a remark your husband one day made, that you would be as likely as not to listen to that young fellow without taking any pleasure in the experiment, simply to begin something new."
she ceased defending herself, and slowly repeated, twice over:
"to begin something new, to begin something new."
then, in an outburst of irresistible frankness, she continued:
"well, listen, what you say is true. we two can tell one another everything. we are bound closely enough together. this man has pursued me for months. and, when i found him below, he spoke to me again. he repeated that he loved me to distraction, and in a manner so thoroughly imbued with gratitude for the care i had taken of him, with such gentle tenderness, that, it is true, i for a moment dreamed of loving him also, of beginning something new, something better, something very sweet. yes, something without pleasure perhaps, but which would have given me calm——"
she paused, and hesitated, before continuing:
"for the road in front of us two," she resumed, "is now barred. we shall advance no further. our dream of leaving france, the hope of wealth and happiness over there in america, all the felicity that depended on you, is impossible, because you were unable to do the thing. oh! i am not[pg 350] making you any reproach! it is better that it was not done; but i want to make you understand that with you i have nothing to hope for; to-morrow will be like yesterday, the same annoyances, the same torments."
he allowed her to speak, and only questioned her when he saw her silent.
"so that is why you gave way to the other?" he suggested.
she had taken a few steps in the room, and returning, she shrugged her shoulders.
"no, i did not give way to him," said she. "i tell you so, simply; and i am sure you believe me, because henceforth there is no reason why we should lie to one another. he kissed my hand, but he did not kiss my lips, and that i swear. he expects to meet me at paris later on because, seeing him so miserable, i did not wish to drive him to despair."
she was right. jacques believed her. he saw she was not telling untruths. and his old feeling of anguish began again, in the rekindling flame of their passion, that frightful trouble of the growing mania, at the thought that he was now shut up alone with her, far from the world. wishing to escape, he exclaimed:
"but then, the other one! for there is another one! this cabuche!"
abruptly turning round, she went back to him, and said:
"ah! so you noticed him! so you know that, too! yes, it is a fact. there is also this one. i cannot imagine what has come to them all. cabuche has never said a word to me. but i can see he is beside himself, when he observes us kissing; and when i address you affectionately, he goes off to whimper in out-of-the-way corners. and then he robs me of all sorts of things, my own private belongings. gloves and even pocket-handkerchiefs disappear, and he carries them over there to his cavern as if they were treasures. only you need not imagine that i am likely to fall in love with[pg 351] this savage. he is too coarse, he would frighten me to death. moreover, his love is passive. no, no, when those great brutes are timid, they die of love, without seeking to gratify their passion. you might leave me a month in his keeping, and he would not touch me with the tips of his fingers, no more than he touched louisette, i can answer for that now."
at this remembrance, they looked at one another, and silence ensued. past events came to their minds: their meeting before the examining-magistrate at rouen; then their first trip to paris, so full of charm; and their love-making at havre, and all that followed, good and terrible. she drew nearer to him, coming so close that he felt the warmth of her breath.
"no, no," she resumed; "still less with that one than with the other. with nobody in fact do you understand. and do you want to know why? ah! i feel it at this hour! i am sure i make no mistake: it is because you have taken entire possession of me; there is no other word. yes, taken, as one takes an object with both hands and walks off with it. before i knew you i belonged to no one. i am now yours and shall remain yours, even against your own wish, even if i do not desire to do so myself. i cannot explain this to you; it was to that end that we met. ah! it is you alone that i love! i can love no one but you!"
she put forward her arms to have him to herself, to rest her head on his shoulder, her mouth on his lips. but he grasped her hands, he held her back aghast, terrified at the sensation of the old shiver ascending his limbs, with the blood beating on his brain. then came the buzzing in the ears, the strokes of a hammer, the clamour of a multitude, as in his former severe attacks. for some time past he had been almost unable to kiss her in broad daylight or even by the flame of a candle, in terror lest he should go mad if he saw her. and a lamp stood there lighting them both up[pg 352] brilliantly. if he trembled as he did, if he felt himself going crazy, it must be because he perceived the white rotundity of her bosom through her open dressing-gown.
"our existence may well be barred," she continued. "let it be! although i can hope for nothing more from you; although i know that to-morrow will bring us the same worries and the same torments, i do not care; i have nothing to do but to let my life drag along and suffer with you. we shall return to havre, and things may go on as they will, so long as i have an hour in your company from time to time."
jacques, in the fury of madness, excited by her caresses, and having no weapon, had already stretched out both his hands to strangle her, when she, turning round, extinguished the lamp of her own accord. then, seating herself, she said:
"oh! my darling, if you could only have done it, how happy we should have been over there! no, no, i am not asking you to do what you cannot do; only i'm so sorry our dream has not been realised. i was afraid just now; i do not know how it is, but it seems as if something menaces me. it is no doubt childishness, but at every moment i turn round as though something was there ready to strike me; and i have only you, my darling, to defend me. all my joy depends on you. it is for you alone that i live."
without answering he strained her to him, putting into this pressure what he did not say: his emotion, his sincere desire to be good to her, the violent love she had never ceased to inspire in him. and yet he had again wanted to kill her that very night; for if she had not turned round and extinguished the lamp he would have strangled her. that was certain; never would he be cured. the attacks came back by the hazard of circumstances without him even being able to discover or discuss the causes. thus, why did he wish to kill her on that night, when he found her faithful, and imbued with a more expansive and confiding passion? was it because the more she loved him, the more he wished to make her[pg 353] his, even to destroying her in the terrifying gloom of male egotism? did he want to have possession of her dead as the earth?
"tell me, my darling," she murmured, "why am i afraid? do you know of anything threatening me?"
"no, no," answered jacques; "rest assured that there is nothing threatening you."
"but at moments," said she, "all my body is in a tremble. behind me lurks a constant danger which i do not see, but which i feel very distinctly. how is it that i am afraid?"
"no, no," he repeated, "there is no cause for alarm. i love you, and will allow no one to do you any harm. see how nice it is to be as we are, one in body and soul!"
a delicious silence followed, which was broken by séverine.
"ah! my darling," she resumed, in her low, caressing whisper, "if we could only always be as we are now. you know we would sell this house, and set out with the money to join your friend in america, who is still expecting you. i never pass a day without making plans for our life over there. but you cannot do it i know. if i speak to you on the subject, it is not to annoy you, it is because it comes from my heart in spite of myself."
jacques abruptly took the same decision he had so often taken before: to kill roubaud in order that he might not kill her. on this occasion, as previously, he fancied he possessed the absolutely firm will to do so.
"i could not before," he murmured in response, "but i might be able to now. did i not make you a promise that i would?"
she feebly remonstrated.
"no; do not promise, i implore you," said she. "it makes us sick afterwards, when you have lost courage. and then it is horrible. it must not be done. no, no! it must not be done."
"yes," answered jacques, "it must, on the contrary as you[pg 354] know. it is because it is necessary that i shall find strength to do it, i wanted to speak to you on the subject, and we will talk about it now, as we are here alone, and so quiet that one could hear a pin drop."
she had already become resigned, and she was sighing, her heart swelling, beating with violent throbs.
"oh dear! oh dear!" she murmured. "so long as the thing was not to be, i wanted it done. but now that it becomes serious i shall not be able to exist."
this weighty resolution caused another silence. around them they felt the desert, the desolation of the savage district. suddenly she resumed her low murmur:
"we must have him here. yes, i could send for him on some pretext; which, i do not know. we can settle that later on. then you will be waiting for him in concealment, do you see? and the thing will go on by itself, for we are sure not to be disturbed here. that is what we must do, eh?"
with docility he answered:
"yes, yes."
but she, lost in reflection, weighed every detail; and little by little, as the plan developed in her head, she discussed and improved it.
"only, my darling," she went on, "it would be foolish not to take our precautions. if we are to be arrested on the morrow, i prefer to remain as we are. look here, i have read this somewhere, i have forgotten where, in a novel for sure: the best thing would be to make believe that he committed suicide. for some time back he has been very peculiar, not quite right in his head, and so gloomy that no one would be surprised to suddenly learn that he came here and killed himself. but then, we must arrange matters in such a way that the idea of suicide will seem probable. is it not so?"
"without a doubt," he replied.
after a pause, séverine, who had been thinking, resumed:
[pg 355]
"eh! something to hide the trace. i say, here is an idea that has just struck me! supposing he got that knife in his throat, we should only have to carry him together over there and lay him across the line. do you understand? we could place him with his neck on a rail, so that he would be decapitated by the first train that passed. after that they could make their investigations. with his head and neck crushed, there would no longer be a hole, nothing! do you agree? answer!"
"yes, i agree," said he; "it is capital."
both became animated. she was almost gay, and quite proud of her faculty of imagination.
"but, my darling," she continued, "i have just been thinking, there is something more. if you remain here with me, the suggestion of suicide will certainly be viewed with suspicion. you must go away. do you understand? you will leave to-morrow, openly, in the presence of cabuche and misard, so that the fact of your departure may be well established. you will take the train at barentin, and leave it at rouen, on some pretence or other; then, as soon as it is dark, you will return, and i will let you in the back way. it is only four leagues, and you can be here in less than three hours. this time everything is settled, and, if you like, it is agreed."
"yes," he answered; "i am willing, and it is agreed."
it was now he who reflected, and there came a long silence. all at once, she broke out:
"yes; but what about the pretext for bringing him here? in any case, he could only take the eight o'clock at night train, after coming off duty, and would not get here before ten o'clock, which is all the better. hi! that person who wishes to see the house, with a view to purchasing it, of whom misard spoke to me, and who is coming the day after to-morrow morning! that will do. i will send my husband a wire the first thing, to say his presence is absolutely necessary. he will be here to-morrow night. you will leave in the[pg 356] afternoon, and will be able to get back before he arrives. it will be dark, no moon, nothing to interfere with us. everything dovetails in perfectly."
"yes," said he approvingly, "perfectly."
when they at last went to sleep, it was not daylight, but a streak of dawn began to whiten the gloom that had hidden them from one another, as if both had been wrapped in a black mantle. he slept like a top until ten o'clock, without a dream; and, when he opened his eyes, he was alone. séverine was dressing in her own apartment, on the other side of the landing. a sheet of clear sun entered through the window of the room occupied by jacques, showing up the red curtains of the bedstead, the red paper on the walls, all that red with which the place was flaming; while the house tottered in the thunder of a train that had just sped past. it must have been this train that awakened him. bedazzled by the glare of light, he looked at the sun, at the streaming crimson surroundings amidst which he found himself; then he recollected: the matter was settled, it was the next night that he would kill, when this great sun had disappeared.
the day passed as had been arranged by séverine and jacques. before breakfast, she requested misard to take the telegram for her husband to doinville; and at about three o'clock, as cabuche was there, jacques openly made his preparations for departure. as he was leaving to catch the 4.15 train from barentin, cabuche, having nothing to do, feeling himself drawn to the other by his secret passion, happy to find in the sweetheart something in common with the woman he was in love with himself, accompanied the driver to the station. jacques reached rouen at 4.40, and, getting down, found accommodation at a small inn near the railway kept by a woman from the same neighbourhood as himself. he spoke of looking up his comrades on the morrow, before proceeding to paris to resume duty. but he said he felt very tired, having presumed too much on his[pg 357] strength; and, at six o'clock, he went off to bed, in a room he had taken on the ground floor, which had a window opening on a deserted alley. ten minutes later, he was on the road to la croix-de-maufras, having got out of this window without being seen, and taken good care to close the shutters, so as to be able to secretly return the same way.
it was not until a quarter after nine that jacques found himself before the solitary house standing aslant beside the line, in the distress of its abandonment. the night was very dark, not a glimmer could be distinguished on the hermetically closed front. and jacques again felt that painful blow in his heart, that feeling of frightful sadness which seemed like the presentiment of the evil that awaited him there.
as had been arranged with séverine, he threw three small pebbles against a shutter of the red room; then he went to the back of the house where a door at last silently opened. having closed it behind him, he followed the light footsteps that went feeling their way up the staircase. but when he reached the bedroom, and by the light of a large lamp burning on the corner of a table perceived the bed in disorder, the clothes of the young woman thrown on a chair, and herself in a dressing-gown, with her volume of hair arranged for the night, coiled on the top of her head, leaving her neck bare, he stood motionless with surprise.
"what!" he exclaimed; "you had gone to bed?"
"of course," she answered, "that is much better. an idea struck me. you see, when he arrives and i go down, as i am to open the door to him, he will have still less cause to be distrustful. i shall tell him i have a headache. misard already knows i am not well. and this will permit me to affirm that i never left this room when they find him to-morrow, down there, on the line."
but jacques shuddered, and lost his temper.
[pg 358]
"no, no," said he, "dress yourself. you must be up. you cannot remain as you are."
she was astonished, and began to laugh.
"but why, my darling?" she inquired. "do not be anxious, i can assure you i do not feel at all cold. just see how warm i am!"
she advanced towards him in a caressing manner, to take him by the shoulders, and in raising her arms displayed her bosom through the dressing-gown she had neglected to fasten, and the night-dress that had come undone. but as he drew back, in increasing irritation, she became docile.
"do not be angry," said she, "i will get between the sheets again, and then you will have no reason to be afraid that i shall catch cold."
when she was in bed, with the clothes up to her chin, he seemed more calm. and she continued talking quietly, explaining how she had arranged everything in her head.
"as soon as he knocks," she said, "i shall go down and open the door. first of all, i had the idea of letting him come up here, where you would be in waiting for him. but to get his body below again, would have caused complications; and, besides, this room has a parquetry floor, whereas the vestibule is tiled, and i shall easily be able to wash it if there should be any spots. just before you came, as i was undressing, i thought of a novel i had read, in which the author relates that one man to kill another stripped himself. do you understand? a wash afterwards, and the clothes are free from any spots. what do you say? supposing we were to do the same?"
he looked at her in bewilderment. but she had her gentle face, her clear eyes of a little girl, and was simply thinking of arranging the plan perfectly, in order to ensure success. all this passed through his head. but her suggestion, the idea of being bespattered with the blood of the murder, brought on his abominable shiver which shook him to the bones.
[pg 359]
"no, no!" he answered. "do you wish us to act like savages? why not devour his heart as well? how you must hate him!"
her face suddenly became clouded. this remark took her from her thoughts of prudent preparation, to reveal to her the horror of the deed. her eyes filled with tears, and she said:
"i have suffered too much for the last few months, to have much affection for him. i have repeated a hundred times over: anything rather than remain another week with this man. but you are right. it is frightful to come to that, we really must want to be happy together. anyhow, we will go down without a light. you will stand behind the door, and when i have opened, and he has come in, you will do what you like. if i interfere, it is only to help you; it is so that you may not have all the trouble yourself. i am arranging the thing as well as i can."
he went to the table where he saw the knife, the weapon that had already been used by the husband, and which she had evidently placed there, so that he might strike him in his turn with it. the wide open blade shone beneath the lamp. jacques took it up and examined it. she watched him, but said nothing. as he held the weapon in his hand there was no need to speak to him about it. and she only opened her lips when he had laid it down again on the table.
"listen, my darling," she continued, "i am not urging you on to it, am i? there is still time. go away, if you do not feel you can do it."
but he became obstinate, and with a violent gesture exclaimed:
"do you take me for a coward? this time it is settled. i have sworn."
at that moment, the house was set rocking by the thunder of a train, which passed like a thunderbolt, and so close to the room that it seemed to go through it in its roar, and jacques added:
[pg 360]
"there is his train. the through train to paris. he got down at barentin, and will be here in half an hour."
neither jacques nor séverine made any further remark for some time. in their minds they saw this man advancing through the night along the narrow paths. jacques had begun to walk up and down the room, as if counting the steps of the other whom each stride brought a little nearer. another, another; and, at the last one, he would be in ambush behind the vestibule door, and would drive the knife into his neck the moment he entered. séverine, still with the bedclothes up to her chin, lying on her back, with her great eyes motionless, watched him going and coming, her mind lulled by the cadence of his walk, which reached her like the echo of distant footsteps over there. they came without pause, one after the other, and nothing would now stop them. when the sufficient number had been taken, she would spring out of bed, and go down to open the door, with bare feet and without a light. "is it you, my dear? come in, i went to bed!" she would say. and he would not even answer. he would sink down in the obscurity with his throat gashed open.
again a train went by. one on the down-line this time, the slow train which passed la croix-de-maufras five minutes after the other. jacques stopped in his walk, surprised. only five minutes had expired! how long the half hour would be! he experienced the necessity of keeping on the move, and resumed striding from one end of the room to the other. he began to feel anxious, and was already communing with himself: would he be able to do it? he was familiar with the progress of the phenomenon within him, from having followed it on more than ten different occasions; first of all a certainty, an absolute resolution to kill; then a weight in the hollow of the chest, a chill in feet and hands; and all at once the loss of vigour, the impotence of the will to act upon the muscles which had become inert.
[pg 361]
in order to gain energy by reasoning, he repeated what he had said to himself so often: it was his interest to suppress this man—the fortune awaiting him in america, the possession of the woman he loved. the worst of it was, that on finding the latter so scantily clothed a few moments before, he verily believed the enterprise would again come to naught; for, as soon as the old shiver returned, he ceased to have command over himself. for an instant he had trembled in presence of the temptation which became too great: she offering herself, and the open knife lying there. but now he felt strong, girded for the effort. he could do it. and he continued waiting for the man, striding up and down the apartment from door to window, passing at each turn beside the bed which he would not look at.
séverine continued to lie still in that bed. with her head motionless on the pillow, she now watched him come and go in a seesaw motion of the eyes. she also felt anxious, agitated with the fear that this night his courage again would fail him. polish off this business and begin anew, that was all she wanted. she was entirely for the one who held her, and heartless for the other whom she had never cared for. they were getting rid of him because he was in the way. nothing could be more natural; and she had to reflect, to be touched by the abomination of the crime. as soon as the vision of blood and the horrible complications disappeared, she resumed her smiling serenity with her innocent, tender, and docile face.
nevertheless, she, who thought she knew jacques, was astonished at what she observed. he had his round head of a handsome young man, his curly hair, his coal black moustache, his brown eyes sparkling with gold; but his lower jaw advanced so prominently, with a sort of biting expression, that it disfigured him. he had just now looked at her as he passed, as if in spite of himself; and the brilliancy of his eyes became deadened with a ruddy cloud, while at the same time he started backward in a recoil of all his frame.
[pg 362]
why did he avoid her? could it be because he was losing his courage, once more? latterly, ignorant of the constant danger of death threatening her while in his company, she had attributed her instinctive fright, for which there was no apparent cause, to the presentiment of an approaching rupture. the conviction abruptly took firm hold of her, that if presently he found himself unable to strike, he would flee never to return. after that she made up her mind that he would kill, and that she would know how to give him strength, should he need it.
at this moment another train passed: an interminably long goods train, whose extensive string of trucks seemed to be rolling on for ever in the oppressive silence that reigned in the apartment. and, leaning on her elbow, she waited until this tempestuous disturbance became lost in the depth of the slumbering country.
"another quarter of an hour," said jacques, aloud. "he has passed bécourt wood and is half-way. ah! how long it is to wait!"
but, as he returned towards the window, he found séverine standing in front of the bed.
"suppose we go down with the lamp?" she suggested. "you can see the spot where you will place yourself. i will show you how i shall open the door, and the movement you will have to make."
he drew back, trembling.
"no, no!" he exclaimed. "no lamp!"
"but just listen," she continued, "we will hide it afterwards. you see we must form an idea of the position."
"no, no!" he repeated. "get into bed again."
instead of obeying, she advanced towards him with the invincible, despotic smile of the woman who knows herself to be all powerful. when she held him in her arms, he would give way, he would do as she desired; and she continued talking in a caressing voice to conquer him.
[pg 363]
"come, my darling," she said, "what is the matter with you? one would think you were afraid of me. as soon as i approach you seem to avoid me. but if you only knew how much i need to lean on you at this time, to feel you there, that we are absolutely of the same mind for ever and ever. do you understand?"
she at last made him retreat with his back to the table, and he could not flee further. he looked at her in the bright light of the lamp. never had he seen her as she was then, with the front of her night-dress in disorder, and her hair coiled up so high that her neck was quite bare. he was choking, struggling, already in a fury, quite giddy with the flood of blood that rushed to his head, at the same moment as the abominable shiver fell upon him. and he remembered that the knife was there behind him, on the table. he instinctively felt it there, he had only to stretch out his hand.
by an effort he still managed to stammer:
"go back to bed, i implore you."
but she continued to approach until she came close to him.
"kiss me," she exclaimed, "kiss me with all the love you feel for me! that will give us courage. ah! yes, courage, we are in need of it! we must love in a different way to others, stronger than others to do what we are about to do. kiss me with all your heart, with all your soul!"
he no longer breathed. he felt as if he was being strangled. the clamour of a multitude in his brain prevented him from hearing; while biting fire behind the ears burnt holes in his head, gained his arms, his legs, drove him from his own body, in the frantic rush of that other one—the invading brute. his hands were about to escape from his control in the frenzy excited by this feminine semi-nudity. the bare bosom pressing against his clothes, the neck so white, so delicate, extended in irresistible temptation,[pg 364] at last plunged him into a state of furious giddiness, over-powering, tearing away, annihilating his will.
"kiss me, my darling," she repeated, "while we have still a minute left. he will be here, you know. he might knock from one moment to another, now, if he has walked quick. as you will not go downstairs to arrange matters beforehand, do not fail to bear this in mind: i shall let him in. you will be behind the door; and do not wait, do it at once! oh! at once, to get it over! i love you so fondly, we shall be so happy! he is nothing but a wicked man, who makes me suffer, and who is the sole obstacle to our happiness. kiss me, oh! so hard, so hard! kiss me as if you were going to devour me, so that nothing may remain of me beyond yourself!"
jacques, feeling behind him with his right hand, had secured the knife without turning round. and for a moment he remained in the same position tightening his grasp on the weapon. could the feeling that had come over him be a return of that thirst to avenge those very ancient offences, the exact recollection of which escaped him, that rancour amassed from male to male since the first deception in the depths of the caverns? he fixed his wild eyes on séverine. he now only required to lay her dead on her back, like a prey torn from others. the gate of terror opened on the dark sexual chasm. love, even unto death. destroy, to have more absolute possession.
"kiss me, kiss me!" she pleaded.
she presented her submissive face in imploring tenderness, displaying her bare neck at the part where it voluptuously met the bosom. and he, seeing her white skin as in a burst of flame, raised his fist armed with the knife. but she perceived the flash of the blade and started back, gaping in surprise and terror.
"jacques, jacques!" she cried; "me? good god! why?"
[pg 365]
with set teeth and answering not a word, he pursued her. a brief struggle brought her again beside the bed. she shrank from him, haggard, without defence, her night-dress in shreds.
"why? good god! why?" she continued asking.
his fist came down, and the knife stuck the inquiry in her throat. in striking, he twisted the blade round in a frightful compulsion of the hand which satisfied itself. it was the same blow as president grandmorin had received, inflicted at the same place, and with the same fury. did she shriek? he never knew. the paris express flew by at this moment with such violence and rapidity that it shook the floor; and séverine was dead, as if struck down in this tempestuous blast.
jacques, standing motionless, now looked at her, stretched at his feet before the bed. the riot of the train was dying away in the distance as he gazed upon her in the oppressive silence of the red bedroom. on the ground, amidst those red hangings, those red curtains, she bled profusely. a crimson stream trickled down between her breasts, spreading over the abdomen to one of the lower limbs, whence it fell in great drops upon the floor. her night-dress, rent half asunder, was drenched with it. he could never have believed she had so much blood.
but what retained him there, haunted, was the abominable look of terror that the face of this pretty, gentle, docile woman took in death. the black hair stood on end as a helmet of horror, dark as night. the blue eyes, immeasurably wide open, were still inquiring, aghast, terrified at the mystery. why? why had he murdered her? and she had just been reduced to nothing, carried off in the fatality of murder, a creature irresponsible, whom life had rolled from vice into blood, and who had remained tender and innocent notwithstanding, for she had never understood.
jacques was astonished. he heard the sniffing of animals,[pg 366] the grunting of wild boars, the roaring of lions; and he became calm, it was himself breathing. at last! at last! he had gratified his thirst—he had killed! yes; he had done that. he felt elevated by ungovernable joy, by intense delight at the full satisfaction of his everlasting desire. he experienced surprising pride, an aggrandisement of his male sovereignty. he had slaughtered the woman. he possessed her as he had so long desired to possess her, entirely to the point of destroying her. she had ceased to belong, she never would belong any more to anybody. and a bitter recollection recurred to him, that of the other murdered victim, the corpse of president grandmorin which he had seen on that terrible night five hundred yards from the house. this delicate body before him, so white, striped with red, was the same human shred, the broken puppet, the limp rag that a knife makes of a creature.
yes, that was it. he had killed, and he had this thing on the ground. she had just been hurled down like the other; but on her back, the left arm doubled under her right side, twisted, half-torn from her shoulder. was it not on the night when the body of the president was found that with heart beating fit to burst, he had sworn to dare in his turn, in a prurience for murder which exasperated him like a concupiscence at the sight of the slaughtered man? ah! if he could only have the pluck, satisfy himself, drive in the knife! this had germinated and developed within him obscurely. for a year, not an hour had gone by without him having advanced towards the inevitable result. even with his arms about the neck of this woman, and amidst her kisses, the secret work was approaching its termination; and the two murders had become united. did not the one show the logic of the other?
the clatter of a house falling down, a jolting of the floor drew jacques from his gaping contemplation of the dead woman. were the doors flying into splinters? had people[pg 367] arrived to arrest him? he looked around, but only to find dull, silent solitude. ah! yes; another train! but the man who would be knocking at the door below, the man whom he wished to kill! he had completely forgotten him. if he regretted nothing, he already judged himself an idiot. what! what had happened? the woman he loved, who loved him passionately, was lying on the floor with her throat cut; while the husband, the obstacle to his happiness, was still alive, and still advancing step by step in the obscurity. he had been unable to wait for this man, who for months had been so sparing of the scruples of his education, and of the ideas of humanity slowly acquired and transmitted; with contempt for his own interest, he had just been carried away by the heredity of violence, by that craving to commit murder, which in the primitive forests threw animal upon animal.
does anyone kill as the result of reasoning? people only kill by an impulse of blood and nerves—the necessity to live, the joy of being strong. he now merely experienced the lassitude of one satiated. then he became scared and endeavoured to understand, but without finding anything else than astonishment and the bitter sadness of the irreparable as a result of his gratified passion.
the sight of the unfortunate creature, who still gazed at him with her look of terrified interrogation, became atrocious. wishing to turn away his eyes, he abruptly felt the sensation of another white form rising up at the foot of the bed. could this be the double of the murdered woman? then he recognised flore. she had already returned, while he had the fever after the accident. doubtless she was triumphant, at this moment, at being avenged.
he turned icy cold with terror. he asked himself what he could be thinking of, to loiter thus in this room. he had killed, he was gorged, satiated, intoxicated with the dreadful wine of crime. stumbling against the knife which had[pg 368] remained on the ground, he fled, rolling down the stairs. he opened the front door giving on the perron, as if the small one would not have been sufficiently wide, and dashed out into the pitch-dark night where his furious gallop became lost. he never turned round. the dubious-looking house, set down aslant at the edge of the line, remained open and desolate behind him, in its abandonment of death.
cabuche, that night as on the others, had found his way through the hedge, and was prowling under the window of séverine. he knew very well that roubaud was expected, and was not astonished at the light filtering through a chink in one of the shutters. but this man bounding from the top of the steps, this frantic gallop like that of an animal tearing away into the country, struck him dumbfounded with surprise. it was already too late to pursue the fugitive, and the quarryman remained bewildered, full of uneasiness and hesitation before the open door, gaping upon the black hole formed by the vestibule. what had occurred? should he enter? the heavy silence, the absolute stillness while the lamp continued burning in the upper room, gave him pangs of anguish.
at last, making up his mind, he groped his way upstairs. before the door of the red bedroom, which had also been left open, he stopped. in the placid light, he seemed to perceive in the distance a heap of petticoats lying at the foot of the bedstead. no doubt séverine was undressed. he called gently to her, feeling alarmed, while his veins began throbbing violently. then he caught sight of the blood, and understood. with a terrible cry that came from his lacerated heart, he sprang forward. great god! it was she, assassinated, struck down there in her pitiful nudity. he thought her still rattling, and felt such despair, such painful shame at seeing her quite nude in her agony; that he lifted her in a fraternal transport, in his open arms, and, placing her on the bed, drew the sheet over her.
[pg 369]
but in this clasp, the only tenderness between them, he covered his chest and both his hands with blood. he was streaming with her gore; and at this moment he saw that roubaud and misard were there. finding all the doors open, they also had just decided to come upstairs. the husband arrived late, having stopped to talk with the gatekeeper, who had then accompanied him, continuing the conversation on the way. both, in stupefaction, turned their eyes on cabuche, whose hands were dripping with blood like those of a butcher.
"the same stroke as for the president," said misard at last, while he examined the wound.
roubaud wagged his head up and down without answering, unable to take his eyes off séverine, off that look of abominable terror, with the hair standing on end above the forehead, and the blue eyes immeasurably wide open, inquiring: why?