Chapter 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.