The Beast Within - Emile Zola [191]
As Séverine leaned forward to unbutton Jacques’s collar, which was too tight, she kissed his eyelids in front of everyone, encouraging him to be brave as he was being carried away.
‘Have no fear!’ she said. ‘We are going to be happy.’
He smiled at her and returned her kiss. For Flore, this was the end of any hope she might still have had; it tore her away from Jacques for ever. She felt as if she too had been mortally wounded and that her blood was draining from her in great waves. As soon as Jacques had been taken away, she turned and ran. As she passed in front of the cottage, she caught sight through the window of the room where her mother lay dead, with the candle still burning next to the body, a pale glow against the broad light of day. The dead woman had been left there on her own since the accident first happened, her head half turned, her eyes wide open, her lips twisted into a fixed grin, as if she had been watching all these unknown people meet their violent end.
Flore ran on. When she reached the bend in the Doinville road she turned to her left and plunged into the undergrowth. She knew this countryside like the back of her hand; if the police were sent on her tail she could defy anyone to catch her. She stopped running and walked more slowly, making for a hiding place she often came to when she was feeling out of sorts — a little cavity hewn out of the rock above the railway tunnel. She looked up at the sky and saw from the sun’s position that it was midday. Once inside the hole, she stretched herself out on the bare rock, lying motionless, her hands clasped behind her head, thinking. An awful feeling of emptiness came over her — a sensation of being already dead, which gradually numbed her whole body. It had nothing to do with regret at having pointlessly killed so many people; regret and disgust were feelings she had to forcibly remind herself of. What she realized, however, and now knew for certain, was that Jacques had seen her restraining the horses. She could tell by the way he had shrunk away from her; she filled him with horror and revulsion, as if he had been looking into the eye of a hideous monster. He would never forget. She had failed to take his life and she must now make sure she did not fail when it came to taking her own. She must kill herself, and very soon. All her hopes were gone. As she lay there thinking it through and becoming calmer in her mind, she realized that there was absolutely no alternative. The only thing that stopped her jumping to her feet and looking for some implement, with which she might dispatch herself there and then, was a feeling of exhaustion, a feeling of utter fatigue. And yet, as she succumbed to the invincible drowsiness that began to take hold of her, there rose from deep within her a love of life, a need to be happy, a final dream, now that she had left Jacques and Séverine free to be happy together, of finding happiness herself. Why not wait until nightfall and seek help from Ozil? He loved her and would protect her. Her mind began to drift and become filled with pleasant fantasies; she fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.
When she woke up, night had fallen, and it was completely dark. Not realizing where she was, she felt around her. As she touched the bare rock on which she lay, she suddenly remembered. It came to her like a bolt of lightning. There was no escaping it; she knew that she must die. For a moment her resolve had weakened and she had been tempted to think that life was still possible; but all such thoughts had vanished along with her fatigue. Death was the only answer. She could not live with so much blood on her hands, her heart torn from her, abhorred by the one man she had wanted and who now belonged to another. While she still had the strength to do it, she must die.
Flore stood up and climbed out of the hole in the rock. She had no hesitation; she knew instinctively where she must go. Once more she looked up at the sky; the stars told her it was almost nine o’clock. As she came towards