The Beast Within - Emile Zola [142]
‘No,’ she said, ‘I have a cousin in Paris. I can sleep on her floor.’
‘It’ll be much better at my place,’ said Pecqueux, teasing her. ‘There’s a lovely soft bed, big enough for four!’
Jacques had such a pleading look in his eye that she took the key. He leaned towards her and whispered, ‘Wait for me.’
Séverine only needed to go a little way along the Rue d’Amsterdam and turn into the impasse, but it was so slippery underfoot that she had to walk very carefully. Fortunately the door on to the street was still open, and she was able to go up the stairs without being seen by the concierge, who was engrossed in a game of dominoes with a friend from next door. She reached the fourth floor1 and let herself in, closing the door behind her very quietly so that none of the neighbours could guess she was there. As she crossed the third-floor landing she had distinctly heard sounds of singing and laughter coming from the Dauvergnes’ apartment; no doubt the two sisters were having one of their little weekly get-togethers, when they invited their friends round to play music. Séverine closed the door and stood in the darkness, with the sounds of youthful merriment coming up through the floor from below. At first she couldn’t see a thing; suddenly, in the pitch black, the cuckoo clock began to strike eleven. It made her jump. She recognized the sound of the chimes, deep and resonant.2 As her eyes grew accustomed to the dark, she made out the shape of the two windows, two pale squares casting their light on the ceiling with the reflection from the snow. Having got her bearings, she felt on the sideboard for the matches. She remembered having seen them there before. It was not so easy to find a candle, but eventually she came across an old stub at the bottom of a drawer. She lit it, and the room filled with light. She glanced nervously around her as if to make sure there was no one else in the room. Everything was just as it was before - the round table at which she and her husband had eaten lunch, the bed with the red quilt draped across it where he had struck her to the ground. It was all there; nothing in the room had changed since her visit ten months earlier.
Séverine slowly removed her hat. She was about to take off her coat when she began to shiver. The room was freezing cold. Beside the stove there was a little box with some coal and firewood in it. She decided that before undressing further she would light the fire. She was glad to have something to do; it made her feel less uneasy. These preparations for a night of love and the thought that soon they would be lying warm in each other’s arms made her heart quicken with a sense of joy and excitement. They had dreamed for so long of a night such as this, without ever daring to hope that their dream might some day come true. As the stove began to roar she set about making other things ready; she arranged the chairs as she wanted them, looked out some clean sheets, and remade the bed, which was not easy as the bed was indeed very large. Her only disappointment was that she could find nothing in the sideboard to eat or drink. Presumably, if Pecqueux had had to fend for himself for the last three days, he had even eaten the crumbs from the floor! All she had found to light the room was a burned-out stub of candle! She consoled herself with the thought that once they were in bed it wouldn’t matter if it was dark. All this activity had made her feel very hot. She stood in the middle of the room, looking round it to make sure that everything was ready.
She was beginning to wonder why Jacques had not yet arrived when the sound of an engine whistle