They drew aside the curtains. They wished to clothe the corpse which
already had the rigidity of a lugubrious puppet. When that task was
finished, their brows were moist.
"Come," she said a second time.
Without hesitation, Julien took up the body and threw it across his
shoulders, as butchers carry calves.
"I will go before you," murmured Therese rapidly, "I will hold your
coat,--you have only to follow. And walk softly."
They had first to pass through Françoise's room. They had crossed it,
when one of the feet of the corpse struck against a chair. At the sound,
Françoise awoke. They heard her raise her head, mumbling to herself.
They remained motionless,--she, pressed against the door; he, crushed
under the weight of the body, with the horrible fear that the mother
might surprise them carrying her son to the river. It was a moment of
anguish. Then, Françoise went to sleep again, and they stealthily
reached the corridor.
But, here, another fright awaited them. The marquise had not gone to
bed,--a streak of light came through the partly opened door. So, they
dared neither go forward, nor retreat. For a quarter of an hour, they
did not move, and Therese had the astounding courage to support the body
so that Julien should not get tired. At last, the streak of light was
obliterated. They could go on to the ground floor. They were saved.
It was Therese who again opened the ancient door. And when Julien found
himself in the middle of Quatre-Femmes Square with his burden, he saw
her standing on the flight of steps, in her white ball gown. She was
waiting for him.
V
Julien had the strength of a bull. When very young, in the forest near
his native village, he amused himself helping the woodcutters, carrying
tree trunks on his young shoulders. So, he carried little Colombel as
easily as a feather. It was a bird on his back, that corpse of a shrimp.
He hardly felt it,--he experienced an unholy joy in finding it so light,
so thin, so absolutely nothing. Little Colombel would never sneer at him
again, passing under his windows while he played the flute. He would
never again humiliate him with his witticisms in the town. With a
movement of the shoulder, he hoisted the body higher up, and, with set
teeth, hastened his steps.
The town was dark. Yet, there was light in Quatre-Femmes Square, in
Captain Pidoux's window. Doubtless, the captain was not feeling well;
his large profile could be seen passing back and forth behind the
curtains. Julien, anxious, slunk in the shadow of the houses. Suddenly,
a slight cough froze him. He hid in a doorway. He recognized the wife of
M. Savournin taking the air at her window. It seemed like fatality.
Ordinarily, at that hour, Quatre-Femmes Square slept soundly.
Fortunately, Madame Savournin soon returned to the side of M. Savournin,
whose snores could be heard on the pavement.
Julien quickly crossed the square and breathed more freely in the
narrowness of Beau-Soleil Street. There, the houses were so near
together that the light of the stars did not penetrate the shadowy
depths. As soon as he found himself thus sheltered, an irresistible
desire to run sent him forward in a furious gallop. It was dangerous and
stupid,--he knew it; but he still felt behind him the clear and empty
space of Quatre-Femmes Square, with the windows of Madame Savournin and
the captain lighted like two great eyes that watched him. His shoes made
such a noise on the stones that he thought himself followed. Suddenly,
he halted. He had heard, thirty yards away, the voices of the officers
who patronized the table d'hôte of the blond widow. They must have been
making merry over a punch, in honor of the exchange of one of their
comrades. The young man told himself that if they came up the street, he
was lost. There was no side street for him to turn into, and he would
not have time to go back. He listened to the tread of their boots and
the jingling of their swords with an anxiety that almost strangled him.
For a moment, he could not have told whether they were approaching or
going in the other direction. But the noises gradually grew fainter. He
waited, then went on softly. At last, he reached the city gate. He
passed through, but the sudden widening out of the country terrified
him. There was a blue haze over the earth; a fresh breeze stirred; and
it seemed to him that an immense crowd awaited him and breathed in his
face.
Yet, there was the bridge. He could see the white roadway, the two
parapets, low and gray like granite benches; he could hear the crystal
music of the Chanteclair in the tall grasses. So, he risked it. He bent
over, avoiding open space as much as possible, fearing to be seen by the
thousand mute witnesses that he felt around him. The most terrible
ordeal would be on the bridge itself, where he would be exposed to the
view of the whole town, which was built like an amphitheatre. He had one
last wavering of the will,--and then he crossed the bridge.
He leaned over; he saw the surface with its ripples like smiles. That
was the spot. He unloaded his burden on the parapet. Before throwing the
body in, he had an irresistible impulse to look at little Colombel
again. He remained for several seconds face to face with the corpse. A
cart in the distance rumbled and creaked. So Julien made haste; and, to
avoid a noisy plunge, he let the body down slowly, leaning over as far
as possible. He did not know how it happened, but the arms of the corpse
caught around his neck and he was dragged over. He saved himself from
going down, by a miracle. Little Colombel wanted to take him with him.
When he found himself seated on the stone, he was taken with a fit of
weakness. He remained there, broken, his spine curved, his legs hanging,
in the relaxed attitude of a tired pedestrian. And he contemplated the
sleeping surface, where the laughing ripples had reappeared. One thing
was certain,--little Colombel had tried to drag him down with him.
Then, he recalled Therese. She was waiting for him. He could see her
standing at the head of the ruined steps, in her white silk dress with
its sweet briar blossoms, all white and their hearts touched with red.
But perhaps, she had felt cold and had gone to her room to wait for him.
No woman had ever waited for him before. Just one minute more, and then
he would be at the rendezvous! But his legs were numb, and he feared
that he would fall asleep. Was he a coward, then? And, to rouse himself,
he pictured Therese as he had seen her at her toilet. He saw again her
arms raised, moving her delicate elbows and her pale hands. He recalled
that room of terrible voluptuousness, where he had known a mad
intoxication. Was he to renounce that passion offered him, a foretaste
of which was burning his lips? No; he would sooner drag himself upon his
knees, if his legs refused to carry him!
But it was already a lost battle, in which his vanquished love had just
expired. The image of Therese paled; a black wall arose, separating him
from her. He had but one irresistible desire,--to sleep, to sleep
forever! He would not go to the office to-morrow,--it would be useless.
He would never again play the flute; he would never again sit by his
window. So, why not sleep forever? His existence was ended,--he could go
to bed. And he looked again at the river, trying to see if little
Colombel was still there.
The surface spread, dimpled by the rapid smiles of its currents The
Chanteclair sang musically, while the country softened under the shadow
of a sovereign peace. Julien murmured the name of "Therese." Then, he
let himself go, and, rolling over, he fell like a bundle into the water,
sending up great splashes of foam. And the Chanteclair continued its
song among the grasses.
When the two bodies were found, it was thought there had been a combat,
and a story was invented forthwith. Julien must have lain in wait for
little Colombel to avenge his mocking; and he must have jumped into the
river after killing his enemy with a blow on the temple.
Three months later, Mademoiselle Therese de Marsanne married the young
Count de Veteuil. She wore a white dress, and her face was beautiful in
its haughty purity.