“Jacques!”
And terrified, as if she had seen a ghost, she looked all around, hoping
to see a way out. One of the tall windows of the room, which went down
to the ground, was half open, and she rushed towards it; but Jacques
anticipated her, and said,--
“Do not attempt to escape; for I swear I should pursue you into your
husband’s room, to the foot of his bed.”
She looked at him as if she did not comprehend.
“You,” she stammered,--“you here!”
“Yes,” he replied, “I am here. You are astonished, are you? You said to
yourself, ‘He is in prison, well kept under lock and key: I can sleep in
peace. No evidence can be found. He will not speak. I have committed the
crime, and he will be punished for it. I am guilty; but I shall escape.
He is innocent, and he is lost.’ You thought it was all settled? Well,
no, it is not. I am here!”
An expression of unspeakable horror contracted the beautiful features of
the countess. She said,--
“This is monstrous!”
“Monstrous indeed!”
“Murderer! Incendiary!”
He burst out laughing, a strident, convulsive, terrible laughter.
“And you,” he said, “you call me so?”
By one great effort the Countess Claudieuse recovered her energy.
“Yes,” she replied, “yes, I do! You cannot deny your crime to me. I
know, I know the motives which the judges do not even guess. You thought
I would carry out my threats, and you were frightened. When I left you
in such haste, you said to yourself, ‘It is all over: she will tell her
husband.’ And then you kindled that fire in order to draw my husband
out of the house, you incendiary! And then you fired at my husband, you
murderer!”
He was still laughing.
“And that is your plan?” he broke in. “Who do you think will believe
such an absurd story? Our letters were burnt; and, if you deny having
been my mistress, I can just as well deny having been your lover. And,
besides, would the exposure do me any harm? You know very well it would
not. You are perfectly aware, that, as society is with us, the same
thing which disgraces a woman rather raises a man in the estimate of the
world. And as to my being afraid of Count Claudieuse, it is well known
that I am afraid of nobody. At the time when we were concealing our love
in the house in Vine Street, yes, at that time, I might have been afraid
of your husband; for he might have surprised us there, the code in one
hand, a revolver in the other, and have availed himself of that stupid
and savage law which makes the husband the judge of his own case, and
the executor of the sentence which he himself pronounces. But setting
aside such a case, the case of being taken in the act, which allows
a man to kill like a dog another man, who can not or will not defend
himself, what did I care for Count Claudieuse? What did I care for your
threats or for his hatred?” He said these words with perfect calmness,
but with that cold, cutting tone which is as sharp as a sword, and with
that positiveness which enters irresistibly into the mind. The countess
was tottering, and stammered almost inaudibly,--
“Who would imagine such a thing? Is it possible?”