I must be an object of hatred to her, and I left home without writing
her a line, without trying to see her, without wishing her good-bye. She
may pity me or she may hate me, but she certainly does not love me any
longer, and I have myself buried that love, for which I would formerly
have given my whole life. As she is young and pretty, however, Elaine
will soon console herself for these passing troubles with some soul that
is the shadow of her own, and will replace me, if she has not done that
already, and will seek happiness in adultery.
What are she and her lover plotting? What will they try to do to prevent
me from interfering with them? What snares will they set for me so that
I may go and end my miserable life in some dungeon, from which there is
no release?
But that is impossible; it can never be; Elaine belongs to me altogether
and forever; she is my property, my chattel, my happiness. I adore her,
I want her all to myself, _even though she be guilty_, and I will never
leave her again for a moment, I will still stick to her petticoats, I
will roll at her feet, and ask her pardon, for I thirst for her kisses
and her love.
To-night in a few hours, I shall be with her, I shall go into _our_ room
and lie in _our_ bed, and I will cover the cheeks of my fair-haired
darling with such kisses, that she will no longer think me mad, and if
she cries out, if she defends herself and spurns me, I shall kill her; I
have made up my mind to that.
I know that I shall strike her with the Arab knife that is on one of the
console-tables, in our room among other knick-knacks. I see the spot
where I shall plunge in the sharp blade, into the nape of her neck,
which is covered with little soft pale golden curls, that are the same
color as the hair of her head. It attracted me so at one time, during
the chaste period of our engagement, that I used to wish to bite it, as
if it had been some fruit. I shall do it some day in the country, when
she is bathed in a ray of sunlight, which makes her look dazzling in her
pink muslin dress, some day on a towing-path, when the nightingales are
singing, and the dragonflies, with their reflections of blue and silver
are flying about.
There, there, I shall skillfully plunge it in up to the hilt, like those
who know how to kill....