Prilukoff raised his long, languid eyes. "Whatever you like," he said.
Then he added in a spent voice: "I am very tired."
And it was I who urged him, who pushed him on, who hurried him to think
out and shape our plans. He was languid and inert. Sometimes he would
look dully at me and say: "What a terrible woman you are." But I thought
only of Tioka, and my eager and murderous frenzy increased.
And behold! Tioka got better. This chance coincidence assumed in my
diseased brain the character of a direct answer from heaven. The
sacrifice had been accepted!
A year later, when I stood before the judges who were to sentence me, no
word of this delusion passed my lips. Demented though I was, I knew
myself to be demented; I knew that this idea of a barter with heaven was
an insensate idea; and yet, by some fallacy of my hallucinated brain, I
believed--do I not even now believe it?--that my vow had been heard, that
my word must be kept, that one life must be bought with the other.
Even so, better, far better would it have been to let my child's white
soul flutter heavenwards, than to retain it with my blood-stained hand.
But at that time my one thought was to save him, even though for his
life, not one, but a thousand others had been immolated.
The day came when I was able to carry him in my arms from his cot to an
easy chair beside the window. What a joy was that brief transit! His
frail arms were round my neck and his head lay on my shoulder. With
slow, lingering steps I went, loth to leave him out of my embrace.
A sweet Italian verse came light and fragrant into my memory: