The Beast Within - Emile Zola [125]
‘So that’s your game!’ she continued. ‘You refuse to buy me shoes and then you help yourself to his money, because you’ve lost at cards!’
Roubaud lost his temper. Was she still going to carry on ruining his life and stand in the way of his pleasures? He no longer desired her, and making love had become a torment. He was getting his enjoyment elsewhere and didn’t need her any more. He reached down into the hole again and took out the purse containing the three gold hundred-franc coins. Having put the floorboard back in place with his heel, he came towards her.
‘You’re making my life a misery,’ he hissed. ‘I’ll do what I like. Do I ask you what you get up to in Paris?’
With a furious shrug of the shoulders he went back to the café, leaving the candle burning on the floor.
Séverine picked it up and went back to bed, frozen to the marrow. She left the candle burning, unable to get back to sleep, her eyes wide open, counting the minutes until it was time to catch her train.
It was now perfectly clear to her that Roubaud had steadily deteriorated, as if the crime had seeped into him, eating him away and dissolving all links between them, and that he knew.
VII
That Friday, passengers intending to catch the 6.40 express at Le Havre awoke with cries of dismay. Snow had been falling thick and fast since midnight, and the streets were ankle deep.
In the station, the train was ready to leave; seven carriages, three second class and four first, and La Lison steaming and ready to go. When Jacques and Pecqueux had arrived at the engine shed to inspect the locomotive at half past five, they couldn’t believe how much snow had fallen. And the sky was still black, with more snow to come. They stood on the footplate listening for the whistle to proceed, looking out in front of them through the gaping mouth of the train shed and watching the snowflakes falling swiftly and silently, streaking the darkness with a shimmer of white.
‘I’m blowed if I can see the signal,’ the driver muttered.
‘We’ll be lucky to get through!’ said the fireman.
Roubaud was standing on the platform with his lamp, having arrived that minute to begin his shift. There were dark rings under his eyes, which kept closing from fatigue as he supervised the departure. Jacques asked him if he knew anything about the state of the line; he came over to him, shook his hand and said that he had received no report so far. At that moment Séverine came down the steps wrapped in a heavy overcoat. Roubaud led her to a first-class compartment and helped her to get in. He must have noticed the look of affection and anxiety that the two lovers exchanged. Yet it didn’t occur to him to tell his wife that it was unwise to leave in weather like this and that she would do better to postpone her trip.
Other passengers were beginning to arrive, all muffled up and carrying luggage, jostling to get to the train in the terrible morning cold. With snow still clinging to their boots, they quickly shut the carriage doors and barricaded themselves in. The platform remained empty, dimly lit by the fitful glimmer of a few gas lamps; the headlamp on the locomotive, fixed to the base of the chimney, gleamed like a giant eye, casting its broad beam of light into the darkness.
Roubaud raised his lamp to give the signal for departure. The guard blew his whistle, and Jacques gave a whistle in reply. He opened the regulator and eased the reversing wheel forward. They were off. Roubaud stood for a minute quietly watching the train as it disappeared into the storm.
‘Listen!’ Jacques said to Pecqueux. ‘I don’t want any messing about today.’
He had noticed that, like Roubaud, his companion also seemed to be falling asleep on his feet; the result of a night on the tiles no doubt.
‘Don’t worry,’ muttered Pecqueux. ‘I’ll be fine.’
As soon as the train emerged from the covered roof of the station, the two men were exposed to the