The Beast Within - Emile Zola [190]
Jacques was still unconscious. Séverine stopped one of the doctors as he walked past and insisted that he look at him. The doctor examined him, but could find no obvious sign of injury. He feared there might be internal damage, however, because there were traces of blood on his lips. Unable to be more precise, he advised them to take him away and put him to bed as soon as possible, taking care not to jolt him.
As the doctor’s hands were feeling him, Jacques had once again opened his eyes. He gave a little cry of pain. Although still confused, he recognized Séverine and murmured, ‘Take me away! Take me away!’
Flore leaned forward. Turning his head, he recognized her too. A look of fear came into his eyes, like a frightened child. He recoiled from her in horror and turned again towards Séverine.
‘Take me away! Take me away, my darling! Quick!’
Séverine spoke tenderly, lovingly, as if Flore were no longer there, as if she were on her own with him.
‘Darling,’ she said, ‘shall I take you to La Croix-de-Maufras? Would you like that? We would be in our own home.’
Jacques accepted. He was still shaking and kept gazing at Flore.
‘Anywhere you like,’ he said. ‘But be quick!’
Flore stood motionless. Jacques’s look of fear and loathing had made her turn pale. Despite the slaughter of so many unknown, innocent people she had not managed to kill either of them. Séverine had escaped without a scratch and Jacques too would probably now recover. All she had done was to draw them closer, to bring them together, the two of them alone, in this isolated house. She pictured them living there - Jacques getting over his injuries and regaining his strength, while his mistress saw to his every need, rewarded for her trouble by his constant love and affection, the two of them undisturbed and free to live out the honeymoon which this disaster had unexpectedly bestowed upon them. She looked at the dead, whom she had killed to no purpose, and her blood ran cold.
As she surveyed the carnage, she caught sight of Misard and Cabuche, who were being questioned by a group of men — the police no doubt. At the centre of the group stood the Public Prosecutor and the Prefect’s chief assistant; they were trying to establish how the quarryman’s wagon had come to be stuck half-way across the line. Misard was unable to tell them, although he swore that he had not left his post. He claimed that he’d had his back turned while attending to his instruments, and that he knew absolutely nothing. Cabuche was still in a daze and gave them a long, involved story about how he shouldn’t have left the horses unattended, but that he’d wanted to pay his respects to the deceased, and how the horses had moved off on their own and Flore hadn’t been able to stop them. He kept getting confused and starting all over again; no one could understand what he was trying to say.
Flore had a sudden, instinctive urge to get away. Her heart was beating fast. She wanted to be free and on her own, free to think and do as she pleased. She had never needed anyone to tell her what she should or should not do. Why wait around now to be pestered with questions, and maybe arrested? She knew that, apart from the crime she had committed, she had neglected her duty and would be held responsible. But while Jacques was still there, she could not tear herself away.
Séverine had asked Pecqueux several times to fetch them a stretcher. Eventually he found one, and came back with a friend to help carry Jacques away. The doctor had persuaded Séverine to look after Henri as well; he seemed to be suffering from concussion and was very confused. Pecqueux promised