THE COMPLETE WORKS OF ÉMILE ZOLA. Эмиль Золя

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СКАЧАТЬ listen to nothing, declared that she intended calling on her debtor with the view of asking for payment of the money that was due. The customer now lived at Batignolles. Madame Raquin and Camille considered this a long way to go, and thought it doubtful whether the journey would have a satisfactory result; but they expressed no surprise, and allowed Therese to set out on her errand in all tranquillity.

      The young woman ran to the Port aux Vins, gliding over the slippery pavement, and knocking up against the passersby, in her hurry to reach her destination. Beads of perspiration covered her face, and her hands were burning. Anyone might have taken her for a drunken woman. She rapidly ascended the staircase of the hotel, and on reaching the sixth floor, out of breath, and with wandering eyes, she perceived Laurent, who was leaning over the banister awaiting her.

      She entered the garret, which was so small that she could barely turn round in it, and tearing off her hat with one hand leant against the bedstead in a faint. Through the lift-up window in the roof, which was wide open, the freshness of the evening fell upon the burning couch.

      The couple remained some time in this wretched little room, as though at the bottom of a hole. All at once, Therese heard a clock in the neighbourhood strike ten. She felt as if she would have liked to have been deaf. Nevertheless, she looked for her hat which she fastened to her hair with a long pin, and then seating herself, slowly murmured:

      “I must go.”

      Laurent fell on his knees before her, and took her hands.

      “Goodbye, till we see each other again,” said she, without moving.

      “No, not till we see each other again!” he exclaimed, “that is too indefinite. When will you come again?”

      She looked him full in the face.

      “Do you wish me to be frank with you?” she inquired. “Well, then, to tell you the truth, I think I shall come no more. I have no pretext, and I cannot invent one.”

      “Then we must say farewell,” he remarked.

      “No, I will not do that!” she answered.

      She pronounced these words in terrified anger. Then she added more gently, without knowing what she was saying, and without moving from her chair:

      “I am going.”

      Laurent reflected. He was thinking of Camille.

      “I wish him no harm,” said he at length, without pronouncing the name: “but really he is too much in our way. Couldn’t you get rid of him, send him on a journey somewhere, a long way off?”

      “Ah! yes, send him on a journey!” resumed the young woman, nodding her head. “And do you imagine a man like that would consent to travel? There is only one journey, that from which you never return. But he will bury us all. People who are at their last breath, never die.”

      Then came a silence which was broken by Laurent who remarked:

      “I had a day dream. Camille met with an accident and died, and I became your husband. Do you understand?”

      “Yes, yes,” answered Therese, shuddering.

      Then, abruptly bending over the face of Laurent, she smothered it with kisses, and bursting into sobs, uttered these disjoined sentences amidst her tears:

      “Don’t talk like that, for if you do, I shall lack the strength to leave you. I shall remain here. Give me courage rather. Tell me we shall see one another again. You have need of me, have you not? Well, one of these days we shall find a way to live together.”

      “Then come back, come back tomorrow,” said Laurent.

      “But I cannot return,” she answered. “I have told you. I have no pretext.”

      She wrung her hands and continued:

      “Oh! I do not fear the scandal. If you like, when I get back, I will tell Camille you are my sweetheart, and return here. I am trembling for you. I do not wish to disturb your life. I want to make you happy.”

      The prudent instincts of the young man were awakened.

      “You are right,” said he. “We must not behave like children. Ah! if your husband were to die!”

      “If my husband were to die,” slowly repeated Therese.

      “We would marry,” he continued, “and have nothing more to fear. What a nice, gentle life it would be!”

      The young woman stood up erect. Her cheeks were pale, and she looked at her sweetheart with a clouded brow, while her lips were twitching.

      “Sometimes people die,” she murmured at last. “Only it is dangerous for those who survive.”

      Laurent did not reply.

      “You see,” she continued, “all the methods that are known are bad.”

      “You misunderstood me,” said he quietly. “I am not a fool, I wish to love you in peace. I was thinking that accidents happen daily, that a foot may slip, a tile may fall. You understand. In the latter event, the wind alone is guilty.”

      He spoke in a strange voice. Then he smiled, and added in a caressing tone:

      “Never mind, keep quiet. We will love one another fondly, and live happily. As you are unable to come here, I will arrange matters. Should we remain a few months without seeing one another, do not forget me, and bear in mind that I am labouring for your felicity.”

      As Therese opened the door to leave, he seized her in his arms.

      “You are mine, are you not?” he continued. “You swear to belong to me, at any hour, when I choose.”

      “Yes!” exclaimed the young woman. “I am yours, do as you please with me.”

      For a moment they remained locked together and mute. Then Therese tore herself roughly away, and, without turning her head, quitted the garret and went downstairs. Laurent listened to the sound of her footsteps fading away.

      When he heard the last of them, he returned to his wretched room, and went to bed. The sheets were still warm. Without closing the window, he lay on his back, his arms bare, his hands open, exposed to the fresh air. And he reflected, with his eyes on the dark blue square that the window framed in the sky.

      He turned the same idea over in his head until daybreak. Previous to the visit of Therese, the idea of murdering Camille had not occurred to him. He had spoken of the death of this man, urged to do so by the facts, irritated at the thought that he would be unable to meet his sweetheart any more. And it was thus that a new corner of his unconscious nature came to be revealed.

      Now that he was more calm, alone in the middle of the peaceful night, he studied the murder. The idea of death, blurted out in despair between a couple of kisses, returned implacable and keen. Racked by insomnia, and unnerved by the visit of Therese, he calculated the disadvantages and the advantages of his becoming an assassin.

      All his interests urged him to commit the crime. He said to himself that as his father, the Jeufosse peasant, could not make up his mind to die, he would perhaps have to remain a clerk another ten years, eating СКАЧАТЬ