* * * * *
What is the matter with me? I am so nervous that I can scarcely hold my
pen. I have never seen a fog come on so suddenly; I thought I should
never find my way back to the house. It is so thick I can hardly see the
nearest trees. It has got into the room, and seems to be hanging from
the ceiling. I am damp through and through.
The fire has gone out, and I am freezing. It is my own fault; I ought to
have rung for Jeanne, or put on some logs myself, but I could not summon
up resolution even for that.
What has become of Torp, that she is staying out half the day? How will
she ever find her way home? With twenty lanterns it would be impossible
to see ten yards ahead of one. My lamp burns as though water was mixed
with the oil.
Overhead I hear Jeanne pacing up and down. I hear her, although she
walks so lightly. She too is restless and upset. We have a kind of
influence on each other, I have noticed it before.
If only she would come down of her own accord. At least there would be
two of us.
I feel the same cold shivers down my back that I remember feeling long
ago, when my nurse induced me to go into a churchyard. I thought I saw
all the dead coming out of their graves. That was a foggy evening, too.
How strange it is that such far-off things return so clearly to the
mind.
The trees are quite motionless, as though they were listening for
something. What do they hear? There is not a soul here--only Jeanne and
myself.
Another time I shall forbid Torp to make these excursions. If she must
go to church, she shall go in the morning.
It is very uncanny living here all alone in the forest, without a
watch-dog, or a man near at hand. One is at the mercy of any passerby.
For instance, the other day, some tipsy sailors came and tried the
handle of the front-door.... But then, I was not in the least
frightened; I even inspired Torp with courage.
I have a feeling that Jeanne is sitting upstairs in mortal terror. I sit
here with my pen in my hand like a weapon of defence. If I could only
make up my mind to ring....
There, it is done! My hand is trembling like an aspen leaf, but I must
not let her see that I am frightened. I must behave as though nothing
had happened.
Poor girl! She rushed into the room without knocking, pale as a corpse,
her eyes starting from her head. She clung to me like a child that has
just awakened from a bad dream.
What is the matter with us? We are both terrified. The fog seems to have
affected our wits.
I have lit every lamp and candle, and they flicker fitfully, like
Jeanne's eyes.
The fog is getting more and more dense. Jeanne is sitting on the sofa,
her hand pressed to her heart, and I seem to hear it beating, even from
here.